Love Me and Leave Me
by magentacr
Summary: A sequel to 'Taming the Shrewd'. Molly and Sherlock are happily married, but when danger arises how far will he go to protect her? And how far will she? After all, she's not the only person he cares about who will need his help. Rated T.
1. While We Have Each Other

**AN: This is a sequel to my previous fanfics, 'Taming The Shrewd' and 'A New Page'. I would recommend reading those stories first, though it's not 100% necessary.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Characters of BBC's Sherlock, or Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock either. **

* * *

**While We Have Each Other**

Molly was a creature of habit. Sherlock lived his life on the whims of his cases. And yet, as Mr and Mrs Holmes, they managed to make it work. While she worked, he would be goodness-knows-where on a case, but when she made dinner he would be home to eat it. Over dinner he would tell her all about his latest case, eager for her input. After dinner he sometimes went back out, sometimes not, but 90% of the time he would be back in time for bed. If he wasn't going to be back, he would at least let her know why, and would endeavour to make it up to her as soon as he could.

She didn't go with him on cases as often as when they were dating. It had been a thrill, but one better left to the likes of John Watson. John would do the leg-work with Sherlock, while she did the lab work with him. It was a nice balance.

* * *

Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock as he examined a slide under the microscope in the lab at Bart's. He was muttering to himself as he worked, and she enjoyed listening to the purr of his voice for a little while, before interrupting it with her own thoughts.

"You sound like you're making good progress. Do you think… will you be finished before dinner?"

"I'm always home for dinner." Sherlock replied, pulling back from the microscope and looking at her with confusion. "Well, usually." He corrected. "Is this about last week? I did explain-"

"No, no it's not about that, I'm fine about that, really." She kissed his cheek in reassurance before continuing. "I just meant… will you be done by then, or will you be going out again after dinner? Because I kind of hoped we could spend the evening together."

Sherlock pulled away from the microscope further, examining her instead. "Why are you nervous asking me this? Your lip is still red where you were biting it a second ago, the pace of your fingers drawing circles on my chest was the lazy pace of affection before, but has accelerated to a more anxious pace. Is there some extra significance to… 6 months. We've been married six months now. Are you planning a celebration? Usually people reserve anniversary celebrations for yearly milestones."

"No point trying to surprise you is there?" Molly said with a laugh, relaxing again now it was out there. "I wasn't planning anything big, just an evening in and a nice meal. And I may have bought a bottle of champagne."

Sherlock's lips slid into his trademark smirk at having guessed correctly. He lowered his eyes back to the microscope. "I shall have finished this case in plenty of time to accompany you home from work and help you cook said delicious meal. Although even if the case wasn't so simply solved I would take the time off for you." Was his reply.

* * *

The evening was going smoothly, the couple curled up together on the sofa, sipping their champagne flutes while watching one of Molly's favourite movies. Sherlock didn't have any personal favourite films yet, but endeavoured not to ruin Molly's by pointing out flaws. They were about halfway through when Sherlock's phone started to ring. Sherlock looked at the caller Id.

Lestrade.

"Do you mind if I take this?" He asked Molly apologetically.

Molly paused the film. "He wouldn't be calling this late if it wasn't important." She said reasonably, though with concern evident in her voice.

Sherlock nodded and answered the call, putting his glass down as he got up and walked a little away from the sofa. "What is it, Lestrade?" He asked impatiently.

"A breakout, Pentonville again." Lestrade cut right to the chase.

"So you want help figuring out how it was done? Or you need help tracking down the escapee?" Sherlock asked. If it was the first it could wait till morning, if the second…

"Any help you can give us would be appreciated, Sherlock, but that's not actually why I'm calling. The escaped prisoner is-"

"Sebastian Moran." Sherlock finished for him in a whisper, closing his eyes. He glanced back at Molly. She didn't appear to be listening, but he moved further away anyway.

"How did you know?" Lestrade asked, taken aback. 3 seconds ago Sherlock didn't sound like he knew a thing about the breakout.

"Why else would you be calling me? You're assuming I am in danger if he wants to seek revenge for being imprisoned, and possibly for the death of his friend and mentor, Jim Moriarty. You're right of course. You do realise that you yourself will be fairly high up his hit list as well, as the lead officer in his arrest, and a personal friend of mine." Sherlock point out, sounding perfectly calm in spite of the news and implications of it.

Lestrade sighed. "Yes, I realise that." He said tensely. "But with any luck we'll have him back under arrest before he's able to make a move on anyone. Calling you is just a precaution."

"It'll take more than luck to bring down a man like Sebastian Moran." Sherlock snapped "Last time the element of surprise worked in our favour, but this time he will give us no such advantage. Moran is a very dangerous and clever man, the second most dangerous man in London, before Moriarty died, which now makes him _the_ most dangerous. You have family in the countryside, do you not? If you value your life, go stay with them until this is over. The city isn't a safe place for you right now."

"How did… nevermind. Thanks for the concern, but I ain't running. I'm a Detective Inspector, Sherlock, it's my job to stay and help do everything I can to put this man away." Lestrade insisted.

"Fine." Sherlock said stiffly "Have you alerted John and Mrs Hudson? They will be in danger too if Moran decides to follow his previous orders to kill them if I was revealed to be alive."

"Will do. You might want to advise the Missus to be careful as well. If he's targeting people close to you-"

"Yes, I am aware of that." Sherlock answered sharply. Moriarty's words to him at their last meeting ran through his head. _"I could take her out with a sniper right here in the flat at any time, I could even do it when you're watching…"_ He fought against the wave of emotions battering up against the wall in his head as he watched her sipping her champagne as she played a game on her phone, waiting for him, blissfully unaware. Unaware of the danger she was now in, and unaware of the drastic action Sherlock was currently resolving to take to protect her. Knowing what he had to do nearly broke his heart, but he forced the emotions down.

"I will report in at the yard tomorrow morning to see what I can do to help you. See you then." He said with perfected control, before hanging up the phone and walking robotically back to the sofa and taking his seat beside Molly. Immediately she snuggled into him, causing a stab of pain to his heart.

"What did he want?" She asked, unaware of the turmoil inside him, since he did such a good job of hiding it.

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow." He told her, pressing play again on the film, determined to enjoy one more evening with her, before tomorrow took it all away from him.


	2. Suitcases

**Suitcases**

Sherlock spent the morning assisting in the investigations down at Pentonville. It had taken him less than 5 minutes to piece together how Moran had escaped, but he had found the trail cold, so had been unable to determine where he had went after. He had put the word out to the homeless network to keep a look-out, but knew Moran could likely stay out of even their sights if he wanted to. For the meantime all Sherlock could do was prepare for Moran's inevitable attacks. He would be heading to Baker Street later to discuss things with John and Mrs Hudson, but there was something he had to do first.

Most of his things were already packed and waiting by the door to go. All that was left was in the bedroom. His suitcase lay open on the bed. He had half-packed it, but was leaving it there for now. Molly wouldn't be home for another hour yet, and he needed her to see it. He sat on the end of the bed, eyes closed, going over it over and over again, anticipating Molly's objections and preparing his responses, but most of all preparing his heart, building a brick wall around his emotions. There was no room for them if he was going to make his plan work.

He heard the sound of keys turning in the front door and got up, continuing his packing. He listened to the usual bustle of Molly entering the flat, hanging up he bag and coat…. And then all sound of movement stopped. She had seen his packed stuff by the door then.

"Sherlock?" Her worried voice echoed through the flat. Sherlock didn't respond, continuing to pack his case as her footsteps approached with an agitated step. "Sherlock? What are you doing?" She asked as she arrived at the bedroom door; The hurt and confusion clear on her face as she took in the scene in front of her.

"I'm packing." He said impassively.

"I can see that. W…_why_ are you packing?" She asked nervously, moving further into the room.

"Because I'm done here, Molly." He replied. He had meant to face her as he said it, but his emotions were betraying his already, and he couldn't. He continued working instead, much easier the keep the emotions at bay that way. "This has been a very interesting experiment, but I think I've learnt all I can from in now, so there is no point in continuing."

"E…experiment?" Molly asked. He knew she understood what he was implying, but didn't want to believe it.

This time he forced himself to turn and face her to explain, wearing his best poker face. "Yes, our marriage, it was an experiment. I wanted to understand the relationship between a married couple better, so decided to try it. I'm sorry for not telling you, but I needed it to be as real as possible. I suppose I should thank you for your… services. Don't worry about the legal side of things, I'll take care of that-"

His explanations were cut short as she slapped him. Hard. He had been anticipating that. What he hadn't been anticipating, was what she said next.

"Don't **ever** lie to me like that again, Sherlock." She said through angry tears. She surprised him further by marching over the wardrobe and pulling out some things for him to help him pack, ranting all the while. "You think after all this time I don't know you? I know when you're lying to me Sherlock, I know when you're hiding your feelings and I know why. Something is going on, isn't it? Something dangerous. You're trying to protect me, like you protected the others by pretending to be dead. Well if you need to disappear for a while to get some stuff sorted that's fine, but there's no need for this stupid act. Go, and I will be waiting for you when you get back."

Sherlock stared at her in shock as she packed his case for him. All his planning, and he had failed. She had seen straight through him. She understood so much, and yet so little. Because even if he left, she would not be safe this way. Abruptly he grabbed her shoulders, spinning her towards him and clutching her tightly to his chest.

"Sherlock?" She asked, confused again but no longer hurt or angry. Her hands wrapped around him in return, patting his back in reassurance.

Sherlock held her tightly for a few seconds while his mind searched desperately for another way.

"Run." He breathed in her ear.

"What?" Molly asked, pulling back again slightly.

"If you love me, for goodness sake, run." He let her go completely, flipping his suitcase over to empty its contents and rushing to start filling it with her things. "You're right, there is something dangerous going on. Moriarty's top sniper is back on the loose and he will kill everyone I care about if I can't stop him. I can't risk anything happening to you. It was a long shot trying to make you leave me, but I had to try. So you'll have to run instead."

It took a few seconds for Molly to take this sudden change in, before starting to help him. "Where?" She asked.

"As far, and as fast as you can. Leave the country. Don't stop at the first country you get to, keep moving until you are well and truly lost. Then get on a boat. That would be safest." Molly didn't notice him picking her pocket until her mobile phone hit the ground, and then was further smashed in by the heel of Sherlock's shoe.

"Hey!" She protested.

"No contact with anyone, he'll be able to trace it. You can make one phone call from a payphone when you leave, tell your family you're going, arrange for someone to take care of Toby, and that's it. Here, you'll need money." He emptied is wallet and shoved all of his cash into her hands, as well as his credit card. It had a high enough limit to keep her going for some time, and he would pay it off. "Withdraw all the money you can from that it London before you go. Don't use it elsewhere, it's as traceable as the phone."

"But, how will I know when it's safe to come back? Without my phone, how will you contact me?" Molly asked. Her voice was shaking as it all sunk in. She would be leaving life as she knew it behind to go make another life elsewhere.

Sherlock stopped packing, turning to face her and cupping her cheek in one hand and staring into her eyes. "Do you believe in me?" he asked her.

"Yes." She answered without hesitation.

"Then know that no matter how far you run, how lost you get yourself, _I will find you._ When this is all over, I will find you and I will bring you home, okay?" He assured her.

Tears of fear were tracking down Molly's cheeks, but she nodded. He wiped the tears away and in silence they continued packing, until she had everything she would need. They stared for a second at the full case, before their eyes turned to each other. Sherlock pulled her close once again. Neither said anything; concerns and comfort were exchanged in a hungry kiss, from lips that didn't know when their next meal would be. They gripped each other tightly, not wanting to let go, but knowing they must. Sherlock gently ended the kiss, keeping his forehead leaned against hers, and entwining their fingers.

"Go." He told her in a broken whisper. She nodded, slipping away from him, picking up the suitcase, and leaving.

It wasn't until he heard the door click shut that Sherlock truly allowed the emotions to overcome him. His heart broke as he looked down at the ring in his hand. Slightly thinner and a fair bit smaller than the wedding band around his own finger. She hadn't noticed when he slipped it off her. Probably wouldn't notice until she was at customs, and saw that the passport he had packed for her was a duplicate he'd had made of her old one, in the name of Hooper. Then she would check her finger, and she would realise. A tear fell onto the ring in Sherlock's hand, and he curled his fingers around it to protect it, before wiping his eyes. He forced his emotions back into submission, then calmly slipped the ring off his own finger, stowing them both in his pocket. He had a safety deposit box at the bank he would deposit them in, before heading over to Baker Street.

* * *

_AN: Welcome back guys! :D Nice to see a few familiar names following this already, and leaving reviews. And hello to any new readers as well. _


	3. Friends Like These

**Friends Like These**

By the time Sherlock reached Baker Street he was back in control of his emotions, not allowing himself to be further distracted by concerns for his wife. He still entered 221b as though it were his own home.

"John? Mrs Hudson? We need to talk." He called, walking up the stairs.

Mrs Hudson bustled out of her flat below. "Oh, Sherlock, you gave me a fright." She said, starting up the stairs after him. "I'm all on edge after that Detective friend of yours called about the sniper."

"So you should be." Sherlock replied, holding the upstairs door open for her. "You do realise that chair is in direct sight of the window, don't you John?" He said as his friend leaned round to see them enter.

"It is, but there are no vacant flats over the road a sniper could shoot from, and it would be an almost impossible shot from the roofline, too steep." John pointed out, clearly relishing an opportunity to show off his military knowledge.

"Almost impossible is Moran's speciality. Vacate the chair please, John, or at least move it 2 feet to the left." Sherlock corrected him.

John got up and shifted the chair, but didn't sit back down again. He leaned casually against the back of it, facing Sherlock. "So I assume we're going to go after him? Got any good leads?"

"Not 'we'. I shall take care of the situation here, in the meantime, for your own safety, you need to get well away from London. Out of the country preferably, although I understand if you're not up to going quite so far, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock instructed them both.

John folded his arms, looking almost amused. "I thought you said if Mrs Hudson left Baker Street 'London would fall'. Don't you think you're over-reacting to this a bit? You didn't make such a fuss about Moran before he was arrested."

"Before Moran turned to crime he was a soldier, like you John." Sherlock explained "He prefers to act under orders, hence why he became a sniper-for-hire and eventually Moriarty's personal gunman. His last known orders were to kill you two and Lestrade if I were revealed to be alive. And he's not the kind to back down from a job, just because his commanding officer is dead, in fact it'll make him more determined as it is also a good means for vengeance. So no, I don't think I am overreacting, so will you leave the country so I can solve this without the distraction of your safety, or will you not?"

John resolutely held Sherlock's stare in a battle of wills, before casually unfolding his arms and admitting "I leave for Greece Sunday morning. You do remember I'm getting married on Saturday don't you?"

Actually Sherlock had forgotten. It was the kind of thing Molly would remind him about when the time came. "That's good. Although it would be best to move it up a little considering the danger. And if your destination is well known you might want to consider changing."

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock "It's all booked now Sherlock. You and Molly may have opted for a quickly thrown together wedding, but Mary has been planning this for months."

"So that makes it worth dying over does it?" Sherlock snapped back.

"It's only 4 days Sherlock." John reasoned

"That's more than enough time. Besides a big planned event like a wedding would be almost the perfect setting to a man like him. If you ask me you would be better postponing the wedding until after your trip."

"Well I'm not asking." John said stubbornly.

Sherlock clenched his jaw, knowing it would be useless arguing with John when he had his mind set to something. He would just have to be on guard on the big day. If his friend wanted to play bait, so-be-it, Sherlock would just have to make the most of it in catching Moran. He turned to Mrs Hudson, who was anxiously watching their argument, debating whether or not to step in. "What about you, Mrs Hudson? Do you have anywhere you could go?" he asked in gentler tones.

"Oh no dear, John is right, I couldn't possibly leave Baker Street. These flats need maintenance, who will do the cleaning if I go? And I couldn't possibly miss the wedding, you know how I've been looking forward to it. I've got a new dress and everything." She babbled.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, as though wishing for patience. He sighed opening them again.

"Fine. Stay, I'll make what arrangements I can for your safety." He could be tolerant with Mrs Hudson. As he pulled out his phone to send a quick text to Mycroft about upping his already tight surveillance and security around Baker Street, he noticed John looking curiously at his hand. His left hand.

"You're not wearing your wedding ring." He pointed out.

"Correct." Was Sherlock's dismissive response. He sent John a look that warned against further questioning, which of course was ignored.

"Does Molly know?" John persisted.

"I should think so." Sherlock dodged. By now he imagined Molly would have cleared customs. If she had noticed her ring was missing he presumed she would realise that he would have removed his own as well.

Sometimes John would watch Sherlock in such a way that made Sherlock feel like he was being deduced, although he knew John's deductive powers to be far inferior to his own. "What happened?" John asked eventually, unable to read it from his friend's impassive face.

"We had… an argument, of sorts. She left." It was the truth, just not all of it. Just enough to mislead. It wasn't that he didn't trust John, there was simply no need for him to know the details. The less anyone knew about Molly's whereabouts the better.

Again that searching gaze, before John let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, Sherlock. You drove her away didn't you? To protect her. You… idiot. You may be able to flick your emotions on and off like a switch, but Molly's not like that, when this is over you are going to have your work cut out for you recovering your marriage, when you could just as easily –"

"John. Please." Sherlock stopped him. Cracks were appearing in his emotional armour, allowing John a brief glimpse on Sherlock's face of his inner turmoil, before he managed to pull it back together.

John's expression softened. "Sorry. I can call her if it'd-"

"No" Sherlock shot down that train of thought.

"Is there nothing we can do for you?" Mrs Hudson chipped in. She liked Molly, and had been an enthusiastic supporter of them as a couple.

Sherlock thought for a second about his already packed bags back in Molly's flat. He turned back to John. "I suppose Mary will be moving in here with you after the wedding?" Although judging by the many new feminine touches to the room she had already made a start. She was obviously over most nights, and the only reason she wasn't here now was because she was working.

"Your room will still be free. If you can keep your clutter contained to the one room, and keep the fridge free of specimens, I can't see that Mary would mind you crashing here for the meantime. I know I don't mind." John said, reading the true question behind Sherlock's enquiry.

"Oh, yes, that would be a lovely idea." Mrs Hudson chimed in.

Sherlock nodded. "I'll go get my things."


	4. Know Your Enemy

**Know Your Enemy**

It was 2:47 am the next night when Sherlock received a call from a withheld number. Withheld or not, he knew who it would be, and answered quickly.

"Moran I presume."

"Correct. Sorry if I woke you." Moran's gruff voice answered, sounding not in the least bit sorry, more amused.

"I wasn't sleeping." Sherlock corrected him. He was in bed, but it would be hours before his restless mind would settle enough for him to sleep. Although that was mostly Moran's fault, as planning to protect his friends from Moran was what was keeping his mind so busy. That and the cold sheets beside him. He hadn't appreciated until now how much easier it had been to sleep with Molly by his side until now. "I would appreciate it if you kept it brief though, and try not to bore me"

Moran chuckled. "I was just calling to congratulate you for your quick planning. By the time I surveyed your home today I found it empty. And your woman's place of work. And I can see you are sleeping alone in Baker Street tonight, so I'm assuming you've managed to send her away, without my noticing. Well played. I'll have fun tracking her down when I'm done with your friends here."

Before he had finished his sentence, Sherlock was over by the window. He pressed his back to the wall and leaned round a fraction, scanning the dark street below and the houses opposite, searching for his caller.

Moran simply chuckled again. "You won't see me Sherlock, not without powerful night vision equipment, like I have. But don't worry, I have no plans to strike tonight. A good soldier learns everything he can about the lay of the land before going in. But of course, John could have told you that. Out of interest, how much do you know about _Captain_ Watson's war days?"

Sherlock said nothing. John never talked about the war much, and other than 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' Sherlock had never asked. He would now though.

"Not much then. I could tell you a few stories, but I wouldn't want to _bore _you. Anyway, as I was saying, you have until Saturday to prepare yourself, Sherlock, then the games begin."

Saturday. The wedding. "Is it wise to tell me when you plan to strike first? You know I have close ties to the police." Sherlock pointed out.

"If I didn't tell you, you'd have guessed it anyway. Besides, I enjoy a challenge. And what better than taking a groom out at his wedding, under the noses of both the police and Sherlock Holmes?" And with that, Moran ended the call.

Sherlock surveyed the view from the window again, before going back to bed. Not that he had any hopes of sleeping now. It was possible that Moran had been lying, that it was a bluff. Name John his first victim so he could take out one of the others while all eyes were on John. Sherlock didn't think so though; Sebastian Moran was a braggart, he had set his challenge, and his pride would not allow him to not go through with it to prove he could. If he was that confident that he could do it though, how could Sherlock stop him?

* * *

John was having breakfast with his wife-to-be early the next morning, when Sherlock burst out of his room, already fully dressed for once, and presented John with an image on his phone.

"Do you recognise this man?" Sherlock demanded to know.

"Good morning to you too." John replied, putting down his fork and taking the phone out of Sherlock's hand for a closer look at the mug shot.

"Good Morning Sherlock" Mary added pleasantly.

"Good Morning, Mary." Sherlock replied, still watching John for a response. "I notice you-"

"Sherlock…" John warned, in case Sherlock said anything offensive.

"- are dressed more warmly today than usual. Field trip?" Sherlock continued over him. He always made an effort to be nice to Mary, and talking about her work always made her happy.

"That's right." Mary smiled warmly. "We're taking the children to the beach. Some of them have never been before, they're all so excited."

"I'm sure they are. Well John?" Pleasantries dealt with, Sherlock returned his attention to the matter at hand.

"He looks vaguely familiar, but I can't think where from. Who is he?" John asked, handing the phone back.

"Sebastian Moran. He phoned last night, hinted that he might have known you in your war days." Sherlock told him with a raised eyebrow.

John nodded slowly as he chewed his food, then swallowed before answering "Now you mention it, I think that is where I know him from. Not a member of my Company, I knew them all by name, but I didn't know everyone in our Regiment, so I could have seen him around base."

"Well that's good, isn't it? I mean he might not be such a threat to John if he knew him, brothers in arms and all that." Mary said hopefully.

Sherlock shook his head, and tactlessly dashed her hopes. "He's named John his first target actually. At the wedding too."

Mary gasped, clutching John's arm. "John maybe we should reschedule…"

John shook his head. "It's a trick, it's got to be. Killers don't just tell you when and where they're going to strike, not if they don't want to get caught."

"You'd be surprised." Sherlock pointed out "Remember what I told you about the brilliant ones, they love the limelight, doesn't matter if they get caught, as long as they make their point first. And you are his point John, I'd listen to your fiancée if I was you."

Again John shook his head "No, if you're sure he'll be coming then it seems like too good an opportunity to miss to catch the guy. We can tip off the police that he's going to be there, get Mycroft to throw some extra security, and you do your thing… he won't be able to evade you all long enough to get a shot off."

"John, no!" Mary protested

"On your own head be it." Sherlock said at the same time.

"Sherlock!" Mary turned to him, looking betrayed.

"John's right, it's probably our best chance to end this early. As the one putting himself in the firing line, it's his call." Sherlock said, with a proud smile to John.

"So I don't get any say at all? This is my wedding as well, what if I don't want it turned into some kind of… of mission!" Mary started to rave. It was mostly directed to John however, so Sherlock simply slipped away, back into his room. He had plans to make.


	5. Wish You Were Here

**Wish You Were Here**

Molly stood at the bow of the 'Splendour of the Seas', staring out across the clear blue sea at the shore slipping away over the horizon. It was the kind of view she would have loved if she was on holiday, but she wasn't. Sighing, she made her way down to the sick bay of the cruise ship, where she would spend all day treating people for sea-sickness. It was a waste of her skills as a doctor, but she was grateful just to have got an honest job on a ship like this at such short notice. The money she'd withdrawn from Sherlock's credit card wouldn't last long if she was to book as a passenger for an extended period, and though other ships she'd asked on had 'positions' open for female staff, their tone was enough for her to tell it was not the kind of work she would ever be interested in, no matter how desperate things had been.

She should have been happy that things were going so smoothly. But as she looked at the calendar on the wall of the sick bay, she couldn't help but feel sad and homesick. Today was John's wedding. She should be there, with Sherlock. Would he even remember what day it was without her, or would he be too wrapped up in his case? Would he miss her, as he watched happy couples dancing at the reception, or would he be dancing with someone else? She shook the silly, paranoid thoughts from her head, wiped away the stray tear that had escaped, before a customer could arrive and see it, and tried to distract herself by tidying and re-organising her minimal medical supplies. For the umpteenth time this trip.

* * *

Sherlock had arrived at the wedding early. He had explored as much of the church they were marrying in as he could, and found no signs that Moran was already there. He didn't like the balcony running around the roof, as it would afford an easy shot to the sniper, but at least there was only one way up there. Post security there, and in theory it should nullify the threat from above.

Now the people were starting to arrive. Sherlock could easily differentiate between the guests, the undercover officers and Mycroft's men. He could even tell which guests were Mary's and which were John's even though he'd never met most of them before.

"We all good?" John asked, coming to stand next to Sherlock at the front, looking around with the same vigilance as Sherlock.

"Security is in place. No sign of Moran. Yet." Sherlock informed him. "Is this tie really necessary? I feel like it's choking me."

"For a couple of hours, yes, then you can tear it off and throw it in the Thames for all I care." John replied with a smile, before his forehead creased with a worrying thought. "You know who else I haven't seen? Molly. Even with whatever is going on between you two, I would have thought she'd be here."

"Not necessarily. She's as good as an Ex to both of us." Sherlock said, as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Hardly. She and I were never really dating; as you reminded me when you stole her out from under me." John pointed out.

"I'm not a big fan of your wording there." Sherlock said with a slight cringe.

"Anyway, you're side tracking me. I know you don't really want to think about it, but I really don't think she'd have missed this. So I went ahead and tried calling her-"

_"John!"_ Sherlock groaned.

"- It went straight to voicemail, Sherlock. I figured she might be at work, but when I called the hospital they said she hadn't been in, _in days_." John continued.

"You just couldn't leave it could you." Sherlock snapped at him.

John looked shocked and disgusted by Sherlock's response. "Did you not hear what I just said? She's _missing,_ Sherlock. Your _wife_. And don't try to tell me she's just gone into hiding because of your supposed break-up, because that's not the Molly I know. She wouldn't just skip work like that, not without calling in at least. Something has happened to her. What if _he_ has her, Sherlock?"

"If Molly had been taken, by Moran or any other criminal for that matter, we'd have heard by now. Moran would want to brag, and anyone else would be making demands." Sherlock replied calmly.

"Or if he's killed her?" John asked, disgusted expression still in place.

"He would still want me to know. The body would have been left somewhere she could be found, and once she'd been ID'ed then as her next of kin I would have been notified." Sherlock carried on in the same unaffected tone. John couldn't know how his worrying was tearing at Sherlock's walls. Only his own cool logic held them in place.

"So that's it. You're not concerned at all about where your wife might be?" John's expression had cooled somewhat, but he was still clearly unhappy with the situation.

"As far as I'm concerned no news of Molly is good news." It meant she was well and truly out of harm's way. But John didn't need to know that bit. "And I would prefer it if you stayed out of it from now on."

"Fine." John bit out.

Both men returned to scanning the room for any sign of Moran. Nearly everyone was here now, and the ceremony would be starting soon. Sure enough, the traditional wedding march started up, as the doors at the end of the hall opened, and Mary started her walk up the aisle. John only had eyes for her now, but Sherlock didn't allow himself to be distracted. He was getting more and more frustrated by the fact he couldn't see Moran yet, knowing that if he was anything like his mentor, he would be planning a pretty dramatic moment to take his shot, and as Mary got closer and closer to John, Sherlock felt the moment was getting closer and closer. Yet he was no closer to stopping him.

Mary made it to John without incident, and the ceremony started, meaning Sherlock had to take his seat, impairing his ability to look around. It wasn't until the 'I Do's that Sherlock finally saw a sign that Moran was here. It wasn't the sign he'd have wanted though; a red dot on John's back.

"**John!**" he tried to warn.

**_BANG. _**

The shot rang out before John had a chance to react to his warning. The force of the shot threw John forward, into the arms of his shocked wife, knocking them both to the floor in a spray of red.

* * *

_AN: I know, that was rather harsh of me. Please don't hate me. Although feel free to vent about it in a review, as I do love hearing from my readers ;)_


	6. The Bullet

**The Bullet**

The world was moving in slow motion. People were panicking, jumping to their feet with gasps and screams. The undercover policemen were trying desperately to control the situation. Mary was screaming, crying, awkwardly trapped under John's blood-soaked body. She looked how Sherlock felt. Internally, he was still screaming John's name, though his face remained impassive. He should be going after Moran, instead he was making quick steps towards John and Mary.

It was as he was rolled John off Mary, that Sherlock realised something was wrong with the scene. The smell. Not the rusty smell of blood, but a sickly sweet one instead. Not caring what anyone thought, he dipped a finger in the pool of red, raising it to his face, first to sniff, then to taste. Golden Syrup. Watered down and mixed with corn flour and food colouring, just like they used in horror movies. A hopeful smile turned up the corner of his lips. Mary was looking at him like he was insane, but he just smiled at her, before ripping open John's shirt to reveal the Kevlar vest he was wearing underneath, with bags of the fake blood suspended all around it.

One of John's eyes cracked open, a grin sliding up his cheek as their eyes met, inspiring Sherlock to laugh.

"Well? Get after him!" John prompted Sherlock, coughing and wincing a little as he sat up and wrapped an arm around Mary, who was now crying with relief and shock.

Sherlock nodded and stood, patting the shocked vicar on the back. "Carry on." He instructed, nodding to the couple, before sprinting away.

Sherlock knew the trajectory of the shot had been from the balcony. Sure enough when he reached the staircase leading up, he found the policeman who had been put in charge of guarding it incapacitated. Sherlock quickly felt for a pulse, confirming that that man had only been knocked unconscious, not killed, before sprinting up the staircase. Lestrade was already up there, and shook his head.

"He's gone, Sherlock. Must've left straight after taking the shot." He told him.

"Urg!" Sherlock lashed out at the banister, before turning and running back down the stairs, ignoring Lestrade telling him it was too late. It couldn't be.

It wasn't until he had personally investigated the whole of the church all over again, and all the surrounding streets and alleys, a square mile of them, that Sherlock finally gave in. Moran had left the trail cold again, not a scrap of evidence for Sherlock to go on. It had all gone to waste. The only positive was that Moran had left before John had been revealed to be alive. If Moran thought he was dead at least John was out of danger. But Lestrade and Mrs Hudson still weren't.

By the time Sherlock got back to the church, the wedding party had already left. He got a cab to the pub where the reception was being held, yanking off his tie and stuffing it in his pocket. When he got there he made a bee-line for John, who had changed into a fresh shirt.

"You missed the photos. Find anything?" John asked, after excusing himself from the conversation he was in with one of Mary's relatives.

"Nothing. He covered his tracks well… literally. Not even a footprint to go on." Sherlock admitted bitterly "The only sign he was ever there is the spray of fake blood you decorated the church with. Nice touch by the way, very realistic."

"Yeah well, I've been in a war remember, I'm all too familiar with what it looks like when someone gets shot." John reminded him "If I didn't include the blood he would have known about the vest and taken a head shot to be sure. No surviving that."

"Or if he'd used a more powerful rifle. Kevlar can only resist so much." Sherlock added.

"It was… a fairly powerful rifle" John told him with a wince.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, scanning him. John always had a fairly stiff posture, it was just part of his character after years of military discipline, but he was holding himself even stiffer now. Sherlock mentally kicked himself for not seeing it, like he hadn't noticed the slight extra bulk to John earlier when he had the vest on under his suit. Although that he could blame on the bulky jumpers he was used to seeing John in.

"Toilets, now." Sherlock instructed, leading the way.

* * *

"I sincerely hope no-one walks in on this." John said taking his shirt off and leaning forward against the counter in the tiny pub bathroom, as Sherlock stood close behind him, examining the wound on his back, the bullet lodged between his shoulder blades. Not deep enough for surgery, but deep enough not to fall out on its own. There were some fibres from the Kevlar vest in there too, where the bullet had ripped through.

"You should have gone to the hospital." Sherlock told him, digging his tweezers out of his pocket and dropping them into the glass of vodka he had stopped to order on their way through the pub.

"I don't need the hospital. I just need the shrapnel taken out and I'll be fine. Trust me, I'm a doctor." John insisted.

"I'm not. Brace yourself, this is going to hurt." Sherlock told him.

"Yeah, I know. It already does." John told him, before hissing in pain as Sherlock poured a little of the vodka on the wound to sterilise it, like the tweezers.

"Last chance, you're sure you don't want to go to the hospital for this?"

"Just do it. I don't want to worry Mary any more than she already has today. Arhhh…" He gritted his teeth in pain as Sherlock started to dig the bullet out.

"Oh and it won't worry her at all to hear her husband screaming in the bathroom." Sherlock replied sarcastically as he worked.

"Not… screaming." John grunted through gritted teeth.

"And of course, she won't worry at all when she notices the ragged wound on your back when you're alone together later. Unless you plan on holding out on her until it's healed, which wouldn't be much of a honeymoon." Sherlock continued, plucking the bullet out and dropping it in the sink, then turning the tap on to rinse it while he went back to work picking the Kevlar fibres out of the wound.

"Shut up, Sherlock." John grunted.

Having got everything out of the wound he could, Sherlock once again rinsed it with the alcohol and pressed a wad of paper towels to it to dry it and absorb the fresh blood.

"You have a dressing for this?" he asked.

John unclenched his fist slowly, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out a large self-adhesive patch he had grabbed when he had changed, passing it back to Sherlock for him to dress the wound. All finished, Sherlock handed him back his shirt, to a muttered thanks, before picking the now clean bullet out of the sink. He would examine it later to determine more about the gun it was fired from, and possibly the man behind it. For now he just gazed unseeingly at the tiny bullet in his palm, then looked up at the man he had just dug it out of.

"I'm glad you're okay, John." He admitted, before slipping out of the bathroom.

* * *

_AN: So there you go, not as bad as I made it seem. Well done to those you who guessed my plan completely or in part, you're clearly all too smart for me. I shall have to try harder to shock you ;) Credit for the recipe for fake blood goes to Mark Gatiss... if you havent seen the video on youtube look it up, it's fairly entertaining._


	7. A Plan In The Making

**A Plan in the Making**

Sherlock was unsurprised when he received another phone call from the withheld number later that evening.

"Calling to gloat are we? How cliché." Sherlock answered, with a bitterness in his tone, as if he really had lost a friend that day.

"Just savouring the victory. And I wanted you to understand, that what you're feeling now, is what I felt when you killed my best friend. So you can understand better why I'm doing this." Moran told him. He was awfully bitter for a man savouring a victory.

"I don't suppose you'd call it quits now, and leave the others alone" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"Oh no, Sherlock. I still have my orders. I won't bore you by repeating them, I'm sure you already know." Moran said sarcastically.

"Obviously." Sherlock replied tersely.

"So, do you want to know who my next target is? Or perhaps how I'm going to go about it? Go on, ask me. I'll give you one free answer." Moran taunted.

"Actually, now you mention it, I do have a question for you to answer." Sherlock responded icily. "How does it feel to know your supposed 'best friend' died at the hand of an inferior sniper he had replaced you with, since he didn't care enough to break you out of prison?"

His answer was the dial tone. Sherlock smiled viciously at his verbal victory over Moran, before continuing with the work he had been doing before Moran's call.

When Mrs Hudson arrived back from the reception later that evening, she was a little alarmed to hear sounds of movement coming from her flat.

"Hello? Who's there?" She called nervously, walking cautiously round, past the stairs, ready to call up to Sherlock if need be.

"Only me, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock's voice called back, much to her relief.

"Oh, Sherlock. What are you doing down here?" She laughed a little to herself at her jumpiness, before jumping again as she rounded the corner into her flat and saw a mannequin, dressed in her clothes, with a wig just like her hair, sitting in her favourite seat. Sherlock was shuffling around on the floor, with a roll of gaffer tape, marking off areas. "What's all this?"

"John's little stunt at the wedding has given me an excellent idea for how to keep you safe without your leaving Baker Street. In fact, it probably would be best if you didn't leave the building at all." Sherlock half explained.

"Not leave the flat at all? But what about the shopping?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"I'll take care of that." Sherlock waved the objection away, as he moved on to a new area with his tape.

"But you never even do your own shopping." Mrs Hudson pointed out.

Sherlock paused. She had a point. "True. I'll teach you how to do it on your computer and get it delivered."

"Oh would you? That would be wonderful, I've been wanting to learn to do that for a while; walking round the shops always leaves my hip aching so." She replied happily, making her way across the room, heading for a seat that wasn't taken up by the mannequin Sherlock had yet to explain.

"No, Mrs Hudson! Not over the tape!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, stopping Mrs Hudson in her tracks. She looked down and saw that she was about to walk across one of the taped off areas.

"Why not? What is all this, Sherlock?" She asked, mystified. She edged around the tape, making her way through the labyrinth and finally to a chair.

"The areas surrounded by tape are the areas visible through the windows, the areas where our sniper could take a shot at you. Under no circumstances are you to enter them. Is that clear, Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock told her, fixing her with a serious gaze.

"I see… but my sink. You taped off my sink, how will I do the dishes?" She asked.

"Our sink upstairs is not in a dangerous spot, you can bring them up. And before you ask, the vacuuming and dusting in those areas will just have to wait. Just until this is over." Sherlock told her.

"I suppose so." Mrs Hudson agreed, although she was a little uncomfortable with the idea. She could put up with a little dust though if Sherlock thought it was necessary to save her life. "What is this mannequin about though Sherlock? You still haven't explained?"

A smirk turned up the corners of Sherlock's mouth. "The mannequin is you Mrs Hudson, or so our sniper will believe. Put it in the danger zones every now and then. Not very far in. Just enough so he can see a sliver of it. The voiles on the windows just obscure it just enough for him not to see it for what it really is, although you must not leave it long, or the unnatural stillness will alert him. Just a couple of times a day. Eventually he'll take a shot at it. Then we can call in the police, and possibly an ambulance, although they do tend to get fussy about their time being wasted… if we can convince Moran that you're dead, like he now believes John is, then that's two of you safe."

"Oh Sherlock, you're such a clever boy. But what about your detective friend? Won't he still be in danger?" Mrs Hudson asked.

Sherlock paused in the act of putting the tape away. He seemed uncertain. Mrs Hudson knew him well enough to recognize that he really was concerned about his friend. "Hopefully the challenge we present here will keep Moran occupied enough to buy Lestrade some time. And me some time to solve this." He turned away from the drawer, walking over to Mrs Hudson, and crouching down in front of her. "Let me worry about Lestrade, you just take care of yourself. Can you do that for me?"

"Don't worry about me Sherlock, I'm not old enough to be losing my wits yet. I'll stay out of sight. I can't promise not to worry about you or the others though, you're all the family I have." Mrs Hudson assured him, patting his hand on the arm of her chair in a motherly way.

"Then I'll keep your family safe." Sherlock told her, standing. "Goodnight, Mrs Hudson."


	8. Missing You

**Missing You**

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock said from the top of the stairs, making Mrs Hudson jump in the process of putting on her coat.

"Oh, just next door." Mrs Hudson admitted, looking guilty at getting caught. "You know how I like to have a cup of tea and a chat with Marie at least once a week. And I didn't get to go last week with all that sniper business-"

"Which is still going on." Sherlock reminded her sharply, starting down the stairs towards her.

Mrs Hudson wavered a little. "But it's been over a week Sherlock. Maybe he's given up?"

"I highly doubt that. More likely he is deliberately waiting to lure us into a false sense of security, so that we will make a mistake. Like you are about to, Mrs Hudson. So why don't you take off your coat, go back to your flat, and use your laptop to contact Mrs Turner, like I showed you." Sherlock told her, holding out his hand for her coat, and hanging it up for her when she reluctantly gave it to him.

"How long is this going to go on, Sherlock? All this fear and hiding?" She asked sheepishly.

Sherlock sighed. "As long as necessary, Mrs H. I don't like it much either, I much prefer cases where the answer is there if you only look and where I am not having to concern myself with everyone else's safety at the same time. But the situation is what it is, and we just have to deal with that."

"You miss her, don't you?" Mrs Hudson said with a sad smile, speaking aloud what Sherlock wouldn't say himself was the part he hated most about the situation.

"Very much." Sherlock agreed with a mirroring sad smile, before retreating back up the stairs.

"There you go, should be feeling better in no time." Molly smiled, watching her latest patient wash down the notion sickness tablet with a cup of water. She always did her best to smile for patients, even though most the time she didn't feel like it. She was considering putting herself on medication for the depression that seemed to hover over her, but knew it would be no real cure.

"3rd time's a charm, huh? Cruises aren't for me it seems. I can't wait until we dock later, although I'll dread coming back on board for the last leg of the trip." Her patient smiled. He'd already been to see her twice on the cruise, and was always friendly.

"No, they're not for everyone." Molly agreed amiably as she binned the plastic cup he had used.

"Out of curiosity, do you get shore-leave when we dock, or do you have to stay here?" He asked, trying to sound casual, though Molly could sense there was more to his request than 'curiosity'.

"I can request shore-leave if I want it, but generally I prefer to stay on the ship." Molly told him, looking at her shoes rather than him.

"I see. Well, I was wondering if maybe you'd request shore-leave for tonight and come to dinner with me?" He asked. She could hear the smile in his voice, obviously expecting a positive answer to his request.

And why wouldn't he? She looked at her twisting hands, her finger bereft of its wedding ring, making her appear unattached. She still wondered occasionally why Sherlock had done that. She looked up at the man asking her out. Mediterranean skin tone and features, shaggy black hair, not dis-similar to Sherlock's. He wasn't bad looking, and in the past she may even have considered him attractive. But he wasn't Sherlock, and ring or no ring she would never consider seeing anyone else.

"I'm sorry… I… I have a boyfriend, back home." She told him.

"I see." He said again. "Home as in England, right? Must be difficult to maintain a relationship over this kind of distance. You must get… lonely." He said, his eyes scanning her and conveying that he was speaking in the physical sense, not emotional.

"I'm fine really." Molly muttered, turning away and fiddling with her things as if she had something to do. She tensed as she felt him come up closer behind her.

"It's okay to have needs. I'm sure he does too. He probably gets them fulfilled somewhere else while you're away, most guys would." He persisted.

_But Sherlock isn't 'most guys'_ Molly reminded herself. But she couldn't say that to him, it would sound like a denial that any woman would give. And her reasoning couldn't stop the tears welling in her own eyes, at both the idea of Sherlock with someone else, and the fact that she was terribly lonely without him.

"Just leave me alone." She said quietly, her voice shaking with tears.

"I'm sorry!" The guy said, suddenly realising he'd made her cry "I didn't mean to-"

"Leave. Please." She said again, a little more firmly. This time the sound of his disappearing footsteps, and the door clicking shut behind him followed her words.

Molly struggled to reign in her tears now they had started. She missed Sherlock, and she worried about him. He had made her leave because of something dangerous. Something he was no doubt in the middle of. In bad moments, like now, Molly wondered what would become of her if he died. Would she ever know? He had told her she needed to hide until he came for her, but what if he never came? It had been 2 weeks already since he told her to run. She'd never known a case to take him so long. Had something bad already happened? Or was it just that much of a difficult case. Or maybe it was already over, maybe he was on his way to her right now. She held on to the one positive thought, letting it give her strength to pull herself together.

She had to believe in Sherlock. He would solve whatever it was that had made him send her away, and he would find her.

* * *

_AN: Little bit of fluff there, just to show time passing really. And I know you're all as anxious to see whats happening with Molly as well as Sherlock, so that's what's happening. Thanks for all the follows and reviews. Reviews just totally make my day, so keep them coming, even if it's just one or two words. :)_


	9. Two Birds

**Two Birds**

The bullet had given Sherlock very little to go on. He had identified the type of bullet, and the likely gun it would have been fired from, had identified the person who had sold it to Moran (and had him arrested for illegal arms dealing) but still had no clue to clue as to Moran's current base of operations or whereabouts. The only thing he could do was carry on research as usual, waiting for Moran's next strike.

It was as Sherlock was measuring out chemicals for his latest experiment that he heard it. The breaking of glass, a startled cry from Mrs Hudson and a crash. He was on his feet in seconds, dashing down the stairs to her apartment. His heart stopped when he saw her lying motionless on the kitchen floor, the mannequin on top of her with a bullet hole where the heart should be.

"No…" He breathed, racing to her side and dropping down beside her, shoving the mannequin away. The first thing he noticed was the lack of blood. She hadn't been shot, the bullet had missed her. His eyes ran up the wall to where it was embedded, then back to Mrs Hudson, to assess what was wrong with her. He could see her chest moving, feel her pulse under his fingers, so at least she was alive. Very gently, he lifted her head, feeling the back of it. There was a little blood. He could see it all in his head now. She had been moving the mannequin when Moran had taken the shot, and the force of the impact and the mannequin slamming back into her had knocked her over, causing her to hit her head on the tiled floor, knocking her out. Concussion would be inevitable, and he feared for worse. And there was no telling how badly the fall would have otherwise damaged her.

He drew out his phone, dialling for emergency services. As he talked he went over to the window, carefully, to see where the shot had been fired from. The flat across the road Moran had chosen didn't surprise him; he had been keeping an eye on them all and knew that the family who lived in that flat were away on holiday. He longed to go over and investigate, but couldn't leave Mrs Hudson. He wouldn't have her wake up alone from what happened, and the paramedic he was talking to wanted to be updated when she woke too, if the ambulance wasn't there by then.

He paced restlessly, the phone now on the table. He reviewed the situation again in his head. Had Moran realised about the dummy, and deliberately timed his shot when Mrs Hudson was behind it, or was it a coincidence? The accuracy of the shot through the mannequin's heart, yet missing Mrs Hudson suggested the latter, much to Sherlock's relief. It was also a relief to him when Mrs Hudson began to stir, with a slight groan. He crouched down by her side.

"Oh Sherlock…" She said, her eyes barely focussing, but her arms were reaching out to him.

"Be still, Mrs Hudson. You had a fall." He told her, letting her take his hand. "Tell me where you are hurting, I have the paramedics on the phone, and an ambulance on its way."

"Oh, I ache all over. But it's all a bit fuzzy… my head…" Mrs Hudson told him.

"Yes, you did hit your head rather hard. I'm just going to tell them…" He picked up his phone again with his free hand to fill in the paramedic. Again he received instructions to stay with her, and was informed that the ambulance was now only a few minutes away. He could hear it now, accompanied by police sirens.

When the ambulance arrived Sherlock stepped aside to allow the paramedics better access to her. He went outside to liaise with the police. He had just finished filling in a young officer on what had happened when he saw Lestrade, emerging from the flat over the road where the shot had come from. He was both unsurprised, and annoyed to see him there. "What are you doing here?" he demanded to know.

"My job. You called the police, and here I am." Lestrade replied, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Another officer could have handled it. You're the only person remaining on Moran's list, you really think it wise to show up to his last known whereabouts?" Sherlock pointed out

"Yeah well, whenever a call comes in regarding Baker Street or anything regarding you, they pass it straight on to me." He told him casually. "Moran is already gone, just like last time. Obviously left in a hurry, some of his gear was still up there. The gun has already been confiscated, but the rest is relatively untouched. Figured you'd want a look yourself."

Sherlock frowned, looking up at the flat. "That's not right. He's too good to have left us anything we could use. Unless it's a trap of some kind. You did check for booby traps?"

"No. I'll have some-"

This time, Sherlock didn't waste time hesitating or shouting when he saw the red dot appear on the chest of the man in front of him. As he tackled Lestrade he heard the whistle of the bullet passing dangerously close to his own head, before hearing its impact into Lestrade's flesh, and the cry from the man himself. The fall to the ground felt a lot longer as he wondered if he had been too late again. Another grunt from Lestrade as they hit the ground told him at least he was alive, though as Sherlock sat up he could see how close it had been. His interference had caused the bullet to miss Lestrade's heart at least, though only by a few inches.

"Stay down" He hissed, though it was mostly unnecessary, as Lestrade was fast losing his grip on consciousness. Sherlock was glad at the sight of the officers and paramedics rushing towards their position, but also knew the paramedics help would mean nothing if he couldn't prevent Moran from firing again to finish him. In a whirl of his coat he stood, facing the new direction the bullet had come from, another vacant flat, and casting his shadow over Lestrade, shielding him with his own body.

"IF YOU'RE GOING TO KILL ME, THEN KILL ME, BUT LEAVE THE OTHERS ALONE!" He shouted into the darkening street as the sun dipped below the horizon.

His phone beeped with an incoming text from the blocked number.

_Not yet, Mr Holmes. First your wife, when I find her, then you._


	10. Waiting Rooms

**Waiting Rooms**

It was a good thing the ambulance had room for two patients. Sherlock rode in the ambulance with them, sitting in between the two stretchers and carefully watching the paramedic as she dealt with Lestrade. Mrs Hudson was holding his hand, offering him moral support, despite her own troubles. The paramedics had confirmed that nothing was broken, but they were taking her in for scans anyway. Lestrade on the other hand would be going straight into emergency surgery.

"It was very brave what you did, standing to protect him from the sniper like that." The paramedic told him, with a thick cockney accent. She met his worried eyes with a smile.

"I knew he wouldn't shoot me." Sherlock said monotone, his expression not changing.

"I don't see how you could. Who could possibly understand a madman like that?" She said, dismissing his modesty.

"I could." He said softly.

The paramedic didn't have a response to that one. She just gave him another smile, albeit a slightly nervous one, then returned to her work.

Once they reached the hospital, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson were both taken in different directions, leaving Sherlock torn as to where to go. The Consulting Detective wanted to go back to Baker Street to investigate, despite the fact he knew Moran would have easily slipped away again by now. The other half of him, the emotional side Molly had drawn out of him, insisted he should stay with his friends. Lestrade would be in surgery for hours probably, but Mrs Hudson would probably be seen to quite quickly. He decided to follow her. Once he found the appropriate waiting room he took a seat, pulling out his phone.

_I assume the second flat has been searched by now. Find anything? – SH_

He sent it to Sargent Donovan, having also seen her on the crime scene.

_How did you get this number?_ She text back. He could hear her crabby voice in his head as he read it.

_Nevermind that, what did you find? – SH _He texted back impatiently.

_We know he got in by picking the locks, but that's about it. Looks like he just went in, took the shot and left. Reminds me of you like that. _

Sherlock rolled his eyes. She had been better to him since his return after the fall, having been forced to recognise that he really had solved the crimes, not committed them. But there was still a mutual distaste under the surface of their relationship, and she would still throw in the occasional jibe, just out of habit.

_How is Greg? _

It surprised Sherlock that she would ask. He knew that despite her tough act she did have a soft side underneath, but for her to let it show was a rare thing.

_In surgery, will be a while yet. Keep me updated and I will return the favour. – SH_

Satisfied with the deal he'd made, Sherlock sat back to think and to wait. Over the next hour he received several updates from Sally, such as:

_Forensics have just been in. No fingerprints, and the boot prints appear to have been obscured somehow. Anderson thinks shoe covers like ours or plastic bags. Either way you'll get nothing from them. _

And

_Ballistics are here. Just dug the bullet out of the wall. Now would be a good time to replace that horrible wallpaper. _

To both he replied with a short, simple; _Thank you. Nothing to report - SH_

Finally Mrs Hudson came back from her scans. In a wheelchair. Sherlock stood as she was wheeled out, impatient to hear the results.

"No need to look so worried, Sherlock, this is just a precaution. They want me to take it easy for a few days." She told him cheerfully. Not that his impassive face would come across as worried to anyone else, but Mrs Hudson knew him well enough to read it in his movements.

"The diagnoses?" He asked the male nurse pushing her.

"She's just jarred her back and hip a bit, and it'll bruise, but there should be no significant or lasting damage done. She does have a fairly bad concussion. We've given her an icepack to be used on and off for the next few hours. She'll need someone to stay with her for the first 48 hours, in case any more serious symptoms occur. And she shouldn't do any strenuous activities, she needs rest."

"I understand. Did you want me to take you back to Baker Street, Mrs H?" He asked, taking control of the wheelchair as the nurse dismissed himself.

"Oh I doubt I shall get much rest there, all those policemen milling about. I hope they don't make too much of a mess. Any word about your friend?" She asked, turning slightly to look at him, then wincing and deciding against it.

"Still in surgery." He told her.

"Well then, that settles it. We'll stay here." She said decisively.

Sherlock nodded, even though she couldn't see, and changed direction of the wheelchair to take them to another waiting room, closer to Lestrade.

They sat in silence for a while. Sherlock was deep in thought, occasionally interrupted by updates from Sally. After what felt like hours, he broke the silence.

"This is taking too long." He sighed, his leg jiggling impatiently.

"Surgery always does." Mrs Hudson tried to reassure him.

"I wasn't talking about that." Sherlock said, shaking his head "I mean the case. I should have got this guy by now, he should never have been on the streets long enough to take those shots today. I've been lazy, waiting for him to come to me rather than going after him."

"But you've had no way to find him to go to him. Don't blame yourself, love, you've done everything you can. You saved our lives." Mrs Hudson told him kindly, reaching out to take his hand.

He pulled away, not wanting her comfort. "Your lives wouldn't have needed saving if it wasn't for me! It's my fault you're all in danger. You'd all be much safer if you never knew me!"

"Well I don't know about that, dear." Mrs Hudson said, rolling her eyes slightly at his brewing tantrum. "You forget, Lestrade is a police officer, he was already putting himself on the front line for crime, long before you showed up. And John, he was a soldier. Okay he wasn't by the time you met him, but he would have found something else, probably just as dangerous. He lives for it. And if we'd never met I'd probably still be living with an abusive husband, dragging me into all kinds of trouble with him."

"And what about Molly? What excuse do I have for ruining her life?" Sherlock responded softly.

Mrs Hudson stared at him in shock for a second, then gave him a hard smack on the leg.

"Ow!" Sherlock protested in shock.

"Don't let me ever hear you say anything like that about yourself again, because it's not true! Molly is just like the rest of us. Danger doesn't find us because we're with you, we find you because we are attracted to the danger."

That bought a smile to Sherlock's face.

Suddenly the door opened, and the doctor arrived, announcing that the surgery had been successful, and Lestrade had been moved to one of the recovery rooms, where they would be able to see him, although he would still be unconscious for a while yet. Sherlock sent off a quick text to Sally, to let her know the good news, before going in to see him.

It was weird, seeing the Detective Inspector so debilitated. His face was pale from the blood he had lost, wires ran up his arms to the machines monitoring his condition, and the hospital gown didn't do much for him either.

"Oh, the poor soul." Mrs Hudson muttered, sitting forward in her chair to fuss with the sheets and tuck him in better.

Sherlock stared at him gravely, then pulled out his phone, selecting a different number to the one he'd been texting.

_John, bring me my revolver – SH_

_Sherlock, I'm still on my honeymoon. In Greece. _ Came the response.

Sherlock could practically see the eye-roll. He snapped a picture which encompassed Lestrade in his hospital bed and Mrs Hudson in her wheelchair next to him, and sent it. The reply was instant.

_Right-hand side of the bed. Top drawer. I'll be on the next flight._


	11. Showdown

**Showdown**

It wasn't difficult for Sherlock to get the blocked number Moran had been contacting him from, not with Mycroft's help anyway. He carefully worded his text into a challenge Moran couldn't refuse.

_Enough texts and phone calls. It's time to talk, man to man. Meet me at the pool at 2300. Come unarmed. – SH_

And so here he was again; the pool where Carl Powers had died, the pool where he had come to meet Moriarty, and found John strapped up to a bomb, with Moran, presumably, pointing a sniper rifle at him.

This time though, Sherlock was more cautious about his entry. He broke into the pools office, flicking on the monitors to the security cameras to watch for Moran's arrival. He saw when Moran entered the building, but noticed he didn't go straight to the pool either. Instead he was skirting around, to get a look at the pool without entering. When he saw that Sherlock wasn't in there, he waited outside. His feet up on the desk, still watching the monitors, Sherlock pulled out his phone.

_You're late – SH_

_I could say the same about you. Watching from the shadows are you? – SM_

_One does not simply walk out into an agreed meeting place first, when dealing with a sniper. – SH_

Sherlock could see that Moran wasn't waiting to shoot him, but he didn't need Moran to know that he was watching.

_Well then we have a problem, because I'm not convinced you won't shoot me on sight either. So what now? Shall we just do it like this? I'd rather see your face as you plead for your wife's life, but over the phone will suffice. – SM_

By this point, Sherlock was on his way to the pool.

_Chickening out are we? Watch the south door. – SH_

He opened it, allowing just a sliver of him to be seen, not enough of him for Moran to get a good shot of him, but enough for him to see he wasn't planning the same thing. Over the other side of the pool, the very door Moriarty had come through opened, revealing a sliver of Moran in the same way. They nodded to one another, and then stepped out into the open room. Their eyes scanned each other as they approached. They stopped about 10 feet apart.

"You're not unarmed." Sherlock stated. He knew Moran wouldn't comply with that bit of the text. That's why he included it.

Moran opened his jacket to reveal a gun holstered to his shoulder, not looking at all ashamed or surprised at being caught. "Neither are you" He returned.

Sherlock brushed his coat aside to reveal the gun tucked into the back of his trousers.

"A Browning L9A1. John's service pistol, I believe. How touching, still wanting to carry that bit of him with you on your cases." He taunted. At Sherlock's stony silence he continued "So is that where this is going? Guns at high noon? Or midnight rather. You think you could beat me at a quick draw?"

"Snipers are usually renowned for their accuracy, not their speed." Sherlock commented dryly

"Usually. I'm good with both." Moran assured him with a cocky smile.

"I don't doubt that. Moriarty wouldn't have taken such an interest in you if you weren't exceptional." Sherlock agreed. "But in answer to your question: No, that's not why I brought the gun."

"But there is a reason. Go on then, enlighten me." Moran said, with a smile that dared him to use it.

"It's a distraction." Sherlock said simply, raising his eyebrows in an 'isn't-it-obvious' way, just before his meaning became clear. There was the crack of a gunshot from above, and Moran was thrown back, dropping the gun, as his blood splattered across the tiles.

Sherlock approached the dying man carefully. The shot had been to the chest, a punctured lung, just like Lestrade, except there were no doctors around this time to help. Well, there was one.

"Sebastian Moran. You were Moriarty's crack shot, but I had one of my own." Sherlock gloated, standing above Moran. He stepped aside so that Moran could see the door opening again, and John emerging, a little out of puff from having just ran down 2 flights of stairs, with a rifle slung over his back.

"No!" Moran shouted, going pale as if seeing a ghost, though it could have been the blood-loss "No, I killed you!"

"You tried" John said, taking his place beside Sherlock.

"Your overconfidence was your downfall." Sherlock told him, his face a cold mask "Always make sure your victims are _actually _dead. It's a lesson I learnt the hard way, and a mistake I'll never make again" And with that he pulled out the gun, flicking off the safety, cocking it and firing in one swift movement, ending Moran. Flicking the safety back on, he handed it back to John, who was looking a little shocked at how quickly and ruthlessly Sherlock had fired. As Sherlock turned away he let out a big breath, before turning and catching up.

"How did you find the L129A1?" Sherlock asked him casually, as they pushed through the double doors. "I could probably persuade Mycroft to let you keep it if you wanted."

John glanced at the gun over his shoulder. "It's not bad, brilliant aim, but I think I'll stick to my Browning. Seeing as I don't have a licence for either."

Their eyes met and they shared a laugh.

"So what now? Shouldn't we be… y'know… disposing of the body somehow?" John asked, trying to be serious, but not being entirely successful.

"Mycroft's people will take care of that. I would have thought you'd be eager to get back to your wife. I know I am." Sherlock said, his face setting again in determination, as they stopped at the road and tried to flag down a cab.

"So you know where she is then?" John asked with raised eyebrows.

"I know where to start" Sherlock said, getting into the first cab that pulled up and shutting the door behind him, leaving John to get his own.

* * *

_AN: Urg, having such a hard time thinking of chapter titles. Forgive me for being a bad titler. Anyway, thankyou for all reviews and follows, always nice to see. :)_


	12. The Search Is On

**The Search is On**

The truth was, Sherlock had been searching for Molly almost as soon as she left. He had built a cache in his mind of all the departure and arrival times he could, so when the time came he could sift through them, and find Molly's path.

So as the Eurostar rushed under the channel, he was in his mind palace, joining the dots. Her first move had been obvious. He could tell that the first time she'd ever left the country had been when he'd taken her to France to propose in Paris, and then back again to Calais for their honeymoon. She had never been on a plane, and would be nervous about it, so while she was still getting her head around it all, her first move would be to hop on a train to France.

But when she got there? Sherlock had no doubt she would follow his instructions carefully. _Don't stop at the first country you get to,_ he had told her. She could use the Eurostar to travel further across Europe, but would be more likely to get off at a familiar spot. She would go to the airport from there, he felt. He had checked all the fights out of the Charles-de-Gaulle airport in Paris, for around the time Molly would have arrived there, and found one obvious choice.

Rio De Janeiro. Molly had told him once about an opportunity that had arisen when she was in med school, for a group of students to go out various lesser developed countries to work with a charity bringing medical care to where it was most needed. There were several options across Asia, Africa and South America, such as a small village not far from Rio. They'd shown a slideshow to the students, and Rio had really captivated Molly. She had the grades for it, and could have gone if she'd wished, but had turned it down, thinking it was too far from home, and too big an adventure for her. But she had always regretted it. And so now, thrust out into the big wide world, Sherlock knew she would not pass up an opportunity to go there.

Unfortunately, while there had been a flight to Rio fairly soon after Molly's arrival in Paris, it would be several hours for Sherlock. The wait was tedious to say the least. He would have to wait until he got to Rio to make any more suppositions on where Molly may now be. And there was only so long he could keep himself entertained by deducing the people around him. He deduced a man traveling alone, on his way home from what he had told his wife was a 'business trip' but was actually meeting a woman he had met over the internet. He observed another man actually returning from a business trip buying gifts for his 2 children, a boy and a girl, aged about 5 and 7. He spotted a drug smuggler, who had so far gone unnoticed by security and debated for a while whether he should point security in the right direction or not.

Finally though, his flight arrived. Since he had got last minute tickets, the seating wasn't great; he had no-where near enough room for his long legs to be comfortable, there was a screaming child behind him, kicking his chair at regular intervals, and the talkative old lady sitting next to him, who insisted on telling him her life story, in French, as if he hadn't already read it from her 30-year old cardigan, the cat hairs on her trousers, the lines on her face and her accent specific to the south of France. By the time she had finished telling her story and fallen asleep, Sherlock had come to the conclusion that dozing off for the rest of the trip would probably be for the best.

* * *

When Sherlock arrived in Rio, he headed straight for the harbour. After all, he had told her to get on a boat if possible, and this was a coastal city. He spent most of the day going in and out of bars by the docks, asking around with a picture of Molly he had on his phone; a risky move as he got further down to the less-tourist-friendly regions of the port, where muggings were all too likely; but he managed to avoid any 'incidents'. For a while it seemed no-one would recognise her, until one man, a captain of a small fishing ship, did.

"Yeah, I recognise her. Came round askin' for work a few weeks back. But that can't be right, if you say she wandered off today. How long you been in Brazil?" The man asked, clearly not born locally, but moved down from the states.

"Only a week. Must have been a different woman, I'll keep asking round." Sherlock excused himself with a lie, much simpler than explaining the truth. Once he left the bar a smile slid up his face. So he was right, this is where she had got on a ship. And not a small one, or she would have been seen around the harbour more. She must have got herself on one of the bigger ships, a cruise ship probably. He was pleased; not only was it a much more effective hiding place, if Moran had ever got on her trail, but it also was a much better living condition than working on any of the smaller boats. He had worried what would become of her when he sent her away, and was proud of how well she'd done.

Armed with that knowledge, Sherlock headed for the Harbour-master's office, to see if he could gain access to the records of which ships had docked here over the last few months. After a bit of persuading he managed to gain the information he needed. Once he had it, he needed a little help however.

_Brother dearest, another small favour. Please check the passenger and crew manifest for the ships: MSC Orchestra, Splendour of the Seas and Crown Princess, to see which one my wife is aboard. Ta. – SH_

When his phone started to ring, less than a minute later, Sherlock wasn't surprised. Though Mycroft could easily have text him the response, he always preferred to call.

"Well, I don't know about your _wife_, but there is a Molly Hooper, working as a physician aboard the Splendour of the Seas. Mycroft told him, dispensing with the pleasantries and getting right down to business. "But of course, with your hacking skills I'm surprised you couldn't find that out yourself." Sherlock ignored his jibes about Molly's maiden name; Mycroft knew the situation, and no doubt understood the reason Sherlock wouldn't want her using the easily-recognisable name _Holmes._

"My laptop is in my bag. Where is the ship now?" He asked tersely.

"It left Montevideo roughly an hour ago and is currently on the last leg of a 7 day cruise. It will dock back at Santos, Sao Paulo at 8am two days from now, for 10 hours, before departing on another 5 day cruise down the coast of Brazil." Mycroft informed him.

"Then it looks like I'm going on a cruise." Sherlock replied, before hanging up the phone.

He smiled in triumph as he made his way back to the city, to find transport to Sao Paulo. His wife was but two days and 275 miles away from him, and he couldn't wait to close the distance.


	13. Reunions

**Reunions**

It was the first day of yet another cruise. How many more would she have to take? Molly wondered. She breathed a sigh of relief as she returned from the toilets to the medical room, and found there were no patients waiting for her. It was a bit embarrassing treating someone for seasickness after having just returned from a rush to the bathroom herself. Usually it didn't bother her, but the sea was particularly choppy today. She ran herself a cup of water, and was just chucking back a tablet when she saw it; a key-card left on her desk. She rolled her eyes. It wasn't the first time she'd received such an indiscrete proposition. She mentally ran through the patients she'd seen that day, wondering which of the guys had left the card. Not that it mattered, she would just return it to guest services next-door later.

That idea was quickly forgotten when she picked up the card and saw what was lying underneath it. Her wedding ring. There was only one person who could have snuck in and put that there, while she was in the toilets. _Sherlock._ He was here at long last. She wanted to run off and find him right now, but still had an hour left of her shift. She had never been more impatient.

As soon as she was free to go, she raced to the elevators, checking the number on the card to see what deck she was headed to. 8500. She took the elevator to deck 8, and followed the door numbers, amazed when she found herself outside the Royal Suite. The best cabin in the whole ship, but it was definitely the right one. Not only was it the same number as the key card she was holding, but she recognised the melody she could hear floating through the door, from inside the room. It was something Sherlock had composed on his violin while working on a case. Molly had liked it, and he played it often for her. It wasn't his violin he was playing though, it was piano, just another feature of the decadent room. She slid the card through the reader and heard the lock click, slipping in quietly so as not to disturb him playing.

He looked up the second the door opened anyway, his eyes fixing on her like a hawk, even though his hands continued to flow effortlessly over the keys. He looked perfectly at home seated behind the baby grand piano in the elegantly decorated room, wearing his deep purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and designer trousers. The suite was so much nicer than her own tiny cabin, but she resisted to urge to look around it, completely focused on her husband.

"I didn't know you played piano." She said. It was a weak greeting, but all she could think of.

"It's fairly simple when you have mastered one instrument, to translate your knowledge of playing to another." He explained, still watching her as she moved towards him. When she stood beside the piano stool he stood abruptly to face her, leaving the melody unfinished.

There were so many things they both wanted and needed to say, but conversation was abandoned for the moment. Instead they pulled each other in for a passionate kiss, lips eagerly reacquainting themselves. How much they had missed each other was communicated by their urgent hands and in breathy murmurs against lips and skin. Sherlock's strong hands lifted Molly up onto the piano, so she was seated at an easier height for their lips to meet, and in return she wrapped her legs around his middle to pull him closer. From then it wasn't long until he lifted her again, this time carrying her away to the bedroom, where they could reunite themselves properly.

* * *

Later, once their passionate needs had been met, curled up in the king-sized bed together in a state of relaxed bliss, it was time to talk.

"So…the Royal Suite huh?" Molly started simply, now taking the time to look around the lavish room.

"Only the best for you." He said, affectionately stroking her hair. "You've spent far too long on this ship, and yet far too little time enjoying its amenities. I thought tomorrow you could quit your work here and we can spend the rest of the trip enjoying ourselves. I did pay your fare as well, as Mrs Holmes of course."

Molly smiled down at the wedding ring, once again restored to its rightful place on her finger. "Yes, I would like that." She agreed, leaning her head against his chest, causing his arm to fall away from her hair and settle round her waist instead. "You had no trouble finding me then? Was I too obvious?"

"Not at all. You were perfectly concealed from our enemy." Sherlock commended her. "I only found you because I knew where to look. A train to France, a flight to Rio and then on this boat ever since. Am I right?"

"Yes." Molly said, with breathless awe. His deductive powers still amazed her at times. "So who was this enemy then? You never explained properly, there wasn't time."

"Sebastian Moran. Old friend of Moriarty's… his favourite sniper in fact." Sherlock explained, giving her full disclosure now it was safe to. "He was arrested that night when the Yard took down most of Moriarty's network, but escaped prison. That's what Lestrade called about, to warn me. It was obvious he would come after me, and those I care about. He got far too close, but we got him in the end."

"So he's back in prison now?" Molly asked innocently.

"No. He's dead." Sherlock told her bluntly. His voice had a chill to it, his eyes dark. Molly put a hand on his arm to comfort him, but said nothing about it, showing trust of his judgement.

"You said he got too close… are the others okay?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. He was troubled, and that worried Molly, but she waited patiently for his explanation. "To varying degrees." He said, before launching into an explanation of what had happened. Her reactions to his story were really quite adorable, her eyes widening in fright when he mentioned the close calls with John and Lestrade, and sighing in relief when he reassured her they were okay. He had missed this. He had missed her.

"Well, I'm glad they're all okay. Mostly. And I'm glad you weren't hurt; I worried about you, y'know." Molly said at the end.

"I know. I'm sorry. I hated being without you, but it was for the best. I don't know what I'd have done if you had been hurt, or… worse." He couldn't say it, even thinking of the possibility of that kind of separation hurt too much.

"I know." Molly whispered back. "We're back together now. That's what matters. But d'you think maybe… we could come up with some other contingency plan, for if something like this happens again? Because I don't ever want to be separated like that again."

Sherlock's answer was a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, I believe I can think something up."

* * *

_AN: There you go, our favorite couple are back together again. Not really sure whether this is the end or not... it's nicely rounded off, but feels like there should be more... I just can't figure out where to go next. So I'm leaving it open for now, I'll think about it over the next week and see what I can come up with._


	14. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

When Sherlock had implied that the next week on the cruise as mostly for her benefit, Molly thought he was just saying that to be romantic. As the week wore on though, she began to see how true this was, and appreciated the gesture more. Although there was plenty to do aboard the cruise ship, Sherlock was very obviously bored. The one bit of the ship he had been most happy to visit, the library, turned out to be a huge disappointment. There were no interesting non-fiction books for him to absorb, just various fictions from which he could learn nothing of importance. Or so he thought; Molly did introduce him to a few rather colorful romance novels, which though he generally found quite shocking, he did pick up a few good ideas from. Other than that though, he often found himself having too resist the urge to express his boredom, contenting himself to just enjoy Molly, and the fun she was having.

Finally though, it was time to go home. Molly was actually in tears of relief as the plane touched down at Heathrow. Sherlock was obviously confused by this, but still did his best to comfort her, squeezing her hand and wiping away the tears with his long fingers, making Molly laugh a little at herself. Molly felt a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders as she set foot in her own flat and was greeted noisily and enthusiastically by Toby the cat, winding around her legs. She picked the cat up, cuddling him to her chest and stroking his soft fur as she looked around.

"Your things are gone." She noticed, looking at Sherlock questioningly.

"I've been staying at Baker Street. It seemed logical." Sherlock explained. He took his suitcase and hers into the bedroom to start unpacking, while Molly followed quietly, still snuggling her cat. She put him down on the bed, which he immediately jumped off, and started helping to unpack.

"I am not looking forward to catching up on the laundry from this holiday." She laughed, as she sorted the clothes that had been worn from those that hadn't in her bag. There was far too much of the former.

"I'm sure Mrs Hudson wouldn't mind taking some if the load is too heavy." Sherlock replied practically, adding very little to the pile. He had packed lightly, and not been gone half as long.

"Oh no, I couldn't ask that of her, not while she's still recovering. If anything we should be helping with hers." Molly said. She had done with her clothes and was now sorting out her other personal items.

"She would never hear of it." Sherlock smirked. "She would appreciate a visit though. We'll go get my things when we're done here and you two can make small-talk."

Molly hesitated. "I would like to, but I think really I should go see my family first. I know I left them worried after my phone call, and with being away so long… I owe them what apology I can give them."

"Don't apologize for keeping yourself alive." Sherlock told her firmly. "But if you think they need to see you, that's fine. I can get my things from Baker Street myself. Unless you want me with you?"

"No, that's fine. I know they might have a little misplaced anger over my disappearance, and I would hate for them to give you grief over trying to protect me. Give my love to John and Mary, and Mrs Hudson. Perhaps we can go together to see them tomorrow?" Molly suggested. Sherlock nodded and gave her a tight hug. After a long time without her, then a week almost constantly in her company, the idea of being separated, even for a short period ached his heart. In time the balance would be restored, he was sure, but for now it was an inconvenience. She squeezed back in silent understanding, before they finished their unpacking in a comfortable silence, and then went away on their own duties.

When Sherlock got to 221b he immediately realised that the others were out. With a quick text inquiry to John, he found out they were all at Lestrade's. His wife had left him (again) and so they had been having dinner with him every other day as he recovered, Mary and Mrs Hudson cooking for him. Sherlock smiled at the thought. There were no bounds to Mrs Hudson's mothering. He sent another text, informing them of his and Molly's plans to visit tomorrow, and continued with his task.

It was when Sherlock was halfway up the stairs that he realised that while he had been correct that John, Mary and Mrs Hudson were gone, he had been wrong in assuming the flat was empty. He heard the ever-so-slight creak of bed springs, as someone adjusted their position on the mattress, coming from his own bedroom, and decided to proceed with caution.

* * *

_AN: I had mixed reviews about whether to leave it where it was or not, but a few ideas popped into my head, so there are a few more surprises on their way. And possibly another Toby-the-cat Special, though I haven't quite figured out if that'll work for what I want or not yet, we'll have to see._


	15. Miss Informed

**Miss Informed**

When Sherlock walked into his bedroom, he was unsurprised to see Irene Adler, sprawled on his bed in a deliberately alluring pose, though thankfully in a little more than what he'd first met her in. Not a lot more. The scarlet gown hugged her figure. It was floor length, though with a split going right up to mid-thigh, from which one of her shapely legs spilled. The sides of the dress were black lace, allowing skin to peak out all the way, though the material of the rest of the dress was slightly translucent anyway, leaving nothing to the imagination. Especially since she was wearing nothing underneath, unless you count the shoes on her feet, black wedges with red ribbons wrapping all the way up her calves. Her hair was up in her favourite elegant do.

"Miss Adler" He greeted her cordially, waiting patiently to see what business she had here.

"Sherlock!" Her greeting was the opposite of his, full of warmth and passion. She slid smoothly off the bed, inserting herself into his personal space. "A little birdy tells me you are once again on the market for a lover. And seeing as you forgot to mention it last time you decided finding a woman was on your to-do list, I thought I'd remind you this time."

Her hand had found its way onto his chest as she spoke, trailing down it. Sherlock caught it before it could go too far, in his left hand. Irene's eyes widened and she quickly flipped their hand positions, examining the ring on his finger.

"What? No! That wasn't there in the photographs! And my source assured me they were recent!" She raised her shocked eyes back to his, looking for an explanation.

"I have been without it in recent weeks. But surely a smart woman like yourself could see why. It's not difficult Irene. You must have seen the news during the last month." Sherlock prompted her.

She huffed and plopped back down on the edge of the bed. "Trying to keep her hidden from Moran, so he wouldn't go after her? I did wonder if it was that. But one could hope."

Sherlock nodded and started gathering up his things, as he was here to do. Irene pouted slightly at being ignored.

"So… since I'm here, we might as well talk." She said, attempting to capture his attention.

"What do we have to talk about?" He asked, not satisfying her by looking at her, merely continuing his packing.

"Why her? I made my interest very clear, and I know you reciprocated. I never understood why you rejected my… offer of thanks…" Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and lips quirked in a naughty smile "… after you saved me in Karachi. I understand not wanting to get tied down, totally, but-"

"No you don't. Or you wouldn't be complaining that I married someone else, or offering yourself to me the moment that relationship appeared to be over." Sherlock pointed out, this time looking over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised in an 'am-I-right?' expression.

She was silent for a second, looking at the floor and trying to regain her dignity. She looked back up at him arrogantly "Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe you are the one man I could see myself settling down with. We're perfect for each other, Sherlock, why don't you see that? When you realised you were ready for a relationship, why didn't you come to me?" She stood again, coming up behind him and leaning round to try and get in his face as he worked "Why that mousy pathologist? What could she possibly have that I don't?"

"A heart." Sherlock replied bluntly.

Another beat of silence from Irene. "No less than you. It's just another reason we're perfect for each other."

"Certainly less than me. If I hadn't figured out the password to your phone, you would have happily walked away leaving me to take the fall. But I did work it out, and rather than letting you die at the hands of your many enemies, I saved you, despite all you'd done to me. Then when it was my turn to fall, Molly saved me, despite all I'd put her through. Sounds like a far greater match, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. She's too good for you. You need a bad girl." Irene insisted, pressing closer in behind him, and running her hands down his arms.

His eyes flicked back to her hands. "Going to drug me again, Irene?" He joked.

"If you want me to." Her smirk blooming at the casual flirting "You enjoyed it last time, I could tell."

He pulled out of her hands. He had everything he needed from in here, stuffed into a large bag. He moved out into the living room, to collect the few items that had migrated there. Irene followed, and he didn't miss her picking up her phone from where it had been balanced on the windowsill.

"No thank you." He told her. "I'm trying to be good."

"It doesn't suit you." Irene said bitterly. "You'll get bored of her. I know how easily bored a man like you gets. You need someone like me to keep it interesting. And when you finally come to your senses and realise that; you know how to find me. But be warned. I will expect you to beg." She was in his face again, the Dominatrix demanding submission.

"I'll never beg for you. But you know what?" He leaned down, his lips at her ear. "I have for her."

She was a silent ball of fury as he moved away from her, collected the last of his things and exited the flat. Resisting the urge to stamp her foot, she exhaled slowly, before pressing a few buttons on her phone.

* * *

_AN: Congratulations Rocking the Redhead, SammyKatz and Anatomydoc for realizing who it was. And a big thankyou to all my other reviews for your input as well, I do love hearing from you._


	16. Scorned

**Scorned**

Molly arrived home hours after Sherlock. He had made dinner, leaving it in the slow-cooker to keep it warm, and rose to greet her when he heard her key in the lock. The displeasure on her face when she looked up at him was a stab in the chest.

"Things not go so well with your family?" he asked sympathetically, hoping that was all the problem was. He took her coat, watching her carefully.

"Yes and no" She sighed. "They were so pleased I was back, I felt so bad for worrying them like that. And you were right, they had some choice words for you. Kept telling me I should leave you for real; escape the madness that surrounds you. I told them no of course."

Her words should have been reassuring, but her tone and body language were the opposite. She sounded almost _regretful_ at having told them no, and she pulled away from his contact after he took her coat, going to sit up the table. Usually she would be so happy if he cooked dinner, but today it just seemed to make her mood worse, as she eyed it suspiciously. She looked down at her hands, then turned back to him, speaking before he had a chance to ask any more about her moodiness.

"Why did you take off my ring before you sent me away? Did you take yours off too?"

What Sherlock suspected to be the case was suddenly clarified. If she was having doubts about his fidelity, there was only one person who could have put them there. Before he could deal with that though, he felt he should answer her first question. There was enough weight behind it to suggest it wasn't the first time she'd wondered.

"The name Holmes is too recognisable. I thought it would be easier for you to escape if you weren't using it, and if you were using your maiden name, then logically you would not be married. As for me, I did remove my ring, and tried to give the impression you had left me as result of an argument. I thought if our marriage appeared unstable then Moran wouldn't view you as a way to get to me. He saw through it instantly, but it was worth a shot. Expect John to ask at dinner tomorrow though. What did she send you?" Sherlock asked, his change of tone the only evidence of a change of topic. He had came closer and held out his hand for her phone.

"What did who send me?" Molly asked, in a not-so-innocent tone. Sherlock wasn't used to such belligerence from her, and it hurt a little. She knew what he was asking for, and was turning it into an accusation against him.

"Irene Adler; The Woman." He clarified with a poker face. He gave her the confession she was after, but not at all apologetic. There was nothing in it to apologise for. "She was at Baker Street today when I arrived. The others were out visiting Lestrade, I texted them with arrangements for tomorrow, by the way. Anyway, she and I were alone. She had received information that I was walking around sans-wedding ring lately, and thought I was once again single, so wanted to stake her claim. I corrected her about the singleness, and rejected all her offers. She's not a woman used to rejection, and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. So now you've come home upset with me I can only assume that she picked the most damning still-frame from the video I knew she was taking of our encounter, which didn't bother me at the time, because I thought she would get nothing compromising on it, and has now sent it to you, to make it look like I've been playing you. So let me see it, and I can put your mind at ease about what was going on at the time."

His hand had been out the whole time, waiting for her to place her phone in it. She did so now, without looking at him. Sherlock opened her texts. There was one message, followed by not one, but three photographs. He read the message first.

_Some things you should know about while you were away, honey - Miss Adler_

He opened the first picture. Irene standing close to him, her hand running down his chest, her chin tilted up to him. His own face was it's usual poker face, neither damning nor redeeming him. His hands were at his side at this point, out of the view of the camera, so his wedding ring couldn't be seen. He flashed the picture at Molly, before launching into another unapologetic explanation.

"Today at Baker Street. See how I'm wearing the same clothes? Although I do favour this shirt, so you're forgiven for thinking this could have been any point in the last few weeks. She moved into my personal space, I didn't invite her, nor did I invite her to touch me."

"But you didn't stop her." Molly said sullenly.

"As I said, this is a still-frame from a video. Had she sent the video you would have seen me removing her hand from my person seconds later." He corrected, before moving on to the next image. Him standing in front of the bed, with her sprawled sexily across it. He smirked, and again flashed the image at Molly.

"How clever of her, sending them in this order to make you think it was a progression of events. Very misleading. This was the view that greeted me when I walked into the room. Again, I never invited her there, or asked her to dress or pose like that. I didn't make any moves closer to her on the bed, just waited to see what she was doing there. When I didn't go closer she stood up and moved closer to me, as you saw in the previous picture."

"And the last one?" Molly prompted. Her sour disposition hadn't shifted at all through his explanations. The last one must have been the clincher, and he was rather intrigued at what more she could possibly have on him. He laughed aloud when he saw it.

It was the day he'd met her. She was sitting on his lap, stark naked, the collar from his priest outfit between her teeth. Not taken from her phone, rather CCTV of her house, although the time stamp had been changed so it looked like it was only a few weeks back, rather than years. A very simple misdirection, but one certain to get results. His laugh seemed to just aggravate Molly further, so he hastened to explain.

"Did I never tell you about my first meeting with Miss Adler?" he asked "I suppose not, I assumed you knew because you've mentioned her, but you didn't know anything about her until that fake body on New Year's, did you? Well, you wondered about the circumstances that lead to me seeing her naked, and now you've seen it. That's how she introduced herself to me, all that time ago. The date stamp has been changed, but I assure you, that picture is from the day I met her, not the last few weeks. John can confirm it if you like, he walked in seconds after that picture."

By this point Molly was looking rather ashamed of herself for not having seen through the ruse. "It's okay, I… I don't need to ask John. I believe you. I… I'm sorry I believed all that, it's just…"

"I know" Sherlock saved her the embarrassment of trying to justify herself. She could still be so very naïve, and Irene was a master manipulator. He could never hold it against her that she'd been taken in. He held his arms out to her, and she stood straight up and folded into them.

"Dinner smells good." She said meekly into his chest. "It's nice to be home."

Sherlock nodded and let her go, going to dish up. What he didn't say was that he had been home ever since he set eyes on her on that cruise ship. The only thing more homely than her warm smile, perhaps lay ahead, tomorrow. In 221b, with John, and Mrs Hudson, and Molly back with them, he would really feel like home. He was looking forward to it, almost as much as a fresh case.


	17. Unexpected

**Unexpected**

The clock read 4:05 am, but Molly didn't spare it a glance as she jumped out of bed, nearly tripped over Toby in the darkness, and stumbled through the flat as quickly as possible to reach the toilet before she vomited.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He was a light sleeper, and felt it instantly when she left the bed. He grabbed both his and hers dressing gowns from the back of the door, throwing his on in a hurry as he followed her, with a lot less stumbling. He pulled the cord to turn on the light in the bathroom, and found her crouched over the bowl, retching, and wincing in the light. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as he took in the evidence before him, but didn't say a word. Instead he ran tender fingers along her neck, pulling her hair back out of the way. Once he had it gathered in one hand, he used his other to drape the dressing gown over her shoulders, as she was shivering slightly.

In a few long minutes, the nausea passed. Molly stood, wrapping herself properly in the dressing gown, and running her hand down Sherlock's arm, squeezing it in a silent thanks. She padded over to the sink, running the cold water and splashing her face, before cupping a handful into her mouth to wash it out. On second thoughts, she grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste and gave her teeth a good scrub.

All the while, Sherlock watched her, his face neutral, but his eyes were wide, his focus shifting every now and then, as his mind was working frantically behind them. Molly saw his reflection and smiled a little to herself. His attentive care always warmed her, even if there was a hint of awkwardness to it. She spat out the toothpaste, rinsed again and turned to him, leaning back on the sink slightly.

"I was kind of hoping the vomiting would stop once we were off the ship." She joked, trying to relax him. "I did wonder why I only started getting sea-sick near the end; it probably wasn't sea-sickness at all. I must have picked up some foreign bug."

"I don't think that's it." Sherlock said stiffly. She saw his fingers at his side itch to reach for her, and yet he was holding back. "Molly, when was your last period?" He asked, detached.

A range of emotions flicked across Molly's face, and her mouth opened and closed several times before answering. "You don't think… no… no I can't be, my period had just been when you arrived on the ship. I can't be pregnant."

"Some women still have their period for the first few months of their pregnancy. Was it lighter than usual?" Sherlock asked again with detached calmness.

"A… a little, but you know what mine are like, they're always up and down." Her cheeks were glowing red by now, embarrassed. "Look, I could be being sick for lots of reasons, we don't need to jump to conclusions-"

"Your brassieres have been too tight recently, haven't they?" Sherlock pointed out, going into deduction mode "The straps have been leaving red lines around your torso when you take them off. Your breasts have grown, only slightly, half a size perhaps. I noticed straight away. And I've seen you swallowing and licking your teeth a lot recently. Can't get rid of a funny taste? A slightly metallic taste? You've been tired, and even more emotional than normal. Hormonal. I put it down to the separation at first, but now, all evidence considered, the answer is fairly obvious, is it not, Doctor?"

It was true, all of it. And when presented to her like that, there was no denying it. Of course she would need to take a pregnancy test to be sure, but from Sherlock's observations it was obvious what the outcome would be. She was pregnant. Molly wasn't sure how she felt about it. Scared, happy, overwhelmed. She had always wanted children, and the idea of being pregnant brought a surge of happiness with it, but she wasn't sure if they were ready for it yet. Life with Sherlock was complicated, she had accepted that when she married him. But she had hoped that by the time they had kids he might have… settled down a bit more. But now that time was already upon them, and things were more unsettled than ever.

And she worried about what Sherlock thought of it. They had never discussed children before. He was cold and clinical in his analysis of her condition, giving no indication of his feelings about it. She looked up into his eyes and found his face as passive as ever, his eyes distant. Surely if he was happy about it, he would show it? Could it just be that he was still as shocked about it as her, or was he unhappy about it, and trying to hide it? The thought of him not wanting their baby made Molly's lips quiver instantly, and tears fill her eyes.

Finally Sherlock's eyes softened. He closed the distance between them, drawing her to his chest and resting his chin on the top of her head.

"It's okay. It's okay, don't cry." He murmured, kissing the top of her head. "You're scared, I can see that. Don't tell anyone I said this, but I am too. But we'll get through this. Together. I love you."

"I love you too." Molly muttered back. Sherlock's words greatly reassured her. She clung to his chest, leaning on him a bit heavily in her tiredness.

"Okay, let's get you back to bed." Sherlock said, turning them and guiding her from the room, back to the bedroom, where he tucked her in.

"Aren't you coming back to bed?" She asked with doe eyes.

"I've had enough sleep for the night, I won't get any more. I think I'll take a walk." He told her, his face closing off a little again.

"Okay" She agreed, a little sadly. "Will you… Please be here when I wake up."

"I'll be here"

* * *

_AN: Have been toying with this idea in my mind for a while, but was holding back cos it's such a game changer... but then my editor convinced me to go for it, so what the hell._


	18. Coming to Grips

**Coming to Grips**

It was a slightly misty night in London; the usually polluted air tasted a lot cleaner with the extra moisture in the air. It was cool and refreshing on Sherlock's face as he stepped out. He leaned against the wall of their building, taking a big breath before carrying himself away from the flat.

He didn't know where he was going, just that he needed to be out. He had suddenly felt very claustrophobic, in that tiny flat with his pregnant wife.

The signs had been there for days, but he had found various other excuses for them. When he had seen the final proof this morning, he had felt a wild panic building in his chest. Getting married had been one thing, one big step for him. But children? That was something else. He had never planned for this. He felt like he was in too deep, and felt a clawing need to escape from it. The only thing that had kept him in that tiny bathroom, when he made the realisation, was the fact that Molly needed him. He wasn't much of a caregiver, but he had done what he could; moving her hair out of the line of fire, and giving her her dressing gown to keep her warm.

Then a second realisation hit; like an icy wave, flooding through his body, causing him to step back from his wife. They had spent over a month separated from each other. And yet she was pregnant. They had discussed his own fidelity earlier than evening, but he had never thought to ask about hers. She hadn't understood why he had removed her ring. Had she perhaps thought that he meant to free her from her commitment to him, in case he never came back for her? The thought stung like hornets, but given the circumstances it was a reasonable deduction, and he supposed he would not hold it against her. But if it was another man's child she was carrying, then it would be… awkward.

But when he had seen the news of her pregnancy sinking in, who the Father was became irrelevant. Well, not irrelevant, but not urgent. He would be able to find out when it had been conceived at her first scan. But at that moment she was scared and upset, and he needed to comfort her. He had taken her into his arms with a resolution; He would be this child's Father, whether there was a biological connection or not. He and Molly were back together now, and he intended to stay with her through thick and thin.

He did need air though. So he had left her to sleep and taken some time out to sort through his thoughts.

The problem with accepting his role of a Father, was that he didn't really have much to go on as to _how._ His own Father had been mostly absent for his own childhood; always away on business. At the time it had seemed perfectly natural to Sherlock, but as he got older and observed other families, he realised his father had been rather negligent. He was no role model for Sherlock to follow. The closest Sherlock had had to a father-figure growing up, he supposed, was Mycroft. Though he more often thought of Mycroft's care as being more a substitute for his Mother. Though his Mother had not been physically absent as his Father had been, she hadn't been a very attentive Mother either. Her children were accessories for her; for showing off at parties, and for social climbing, arranging playdates with other important people's children. She did love them, in her own way, but their actual care was mostly left to a nanny. Or rather, Mycroft's had been. He had been oddly possessive of his younger brother when he had been born, and insisted on taking Sherlock's care upon himself. Until Sherlock had grown out of needing Mycroft's care and had started rebelling against it. He had never really stopped rebelling since, and Mycroft had never really stopped trying.

Finding himself back in the vicinity of Baker Street, having walked in some kind of circle, Sherlock checked his watch. Molly would be waking up soon, and he had promised her he would be home when she did. He had just enough time to stop in at a 24-hour chemists for a pregnancy test (though to him the proof was conclusive, he knew Molly would want to be sure) before returning to the flat. He slipped into their bedroom, gave his dozing wife a soft kiss on the forehead, left the test beside her and went back out to the kitchen to make coffees and breakfast. He heard her slip out of the bedroom minutes later, finding her way to the bathroom a lot easier in the daylight. By the time she was done in there breakfast was on the table, and Sherlock was seated impatiently to start. Rather than take her seat at the table though, she walked around, sliding onto his lap, and resting her head against his lapel.

"It was positive" She whispered.

"Yes." Sherlock murmured back. Of course he had known it would be.

"We should probably-" Molly started

"We'll worry about the logistics later. For now, you need to sit down and eat your breakfast." He instructed, giving her a gentle push off his lap so she could take the seat across from him, where he had set her plate "You're eating for two now."

Molly took a breath as she took her seat. "So you're okay with this?"

"Yes." He gave a small smile in confirmation. "Now eat your breakfast."


	19. The Family You Chose

_AN: Warning: this chapter is fluffier than Agnes' unicorn. Happy fuzzy feels may result._

**The Family You Choose**

When Sherlock ushered Molly into 221b Baker Street, later that afternoon, the flat seemed unusually crowded compared to the days it had been just him and John. John and Mary were seated together on the sofa, arms casually around each other. Mrs Hudson was pottering about between the kitchen and the living room, a gracious host as ever, and Lestrade was seated in John's old armchair, his bandages just peeking out from under his shirt. They all warmly greeted the arriving couple.

"Oh, it's so nice to see you two back together again!" Mrs Hudson gushed.

"And it's so nice to see you all." Molly returned "I was beginning to think I never would again."

"Don't be so dramatic, Molly. You knew I would come for you." Sherlock reprimanded her, taking his seat in his armchair, and pulling Molly down onto his lap, as all the other seats were taken.

"So what actually happened then, between you two?" John asked, watching their affectionate motions suspiciously "Sherlock, you gave me the impression Molly left as a result of the argument. And how come it took you so long to find her again? Where were you, Molly?"

"One question at a time, please John." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"South America." Molly answered over him. "Well, kind of, I wasn't actually on land most the time, I was on a cruise ship going up and down the coast. Sherlock said a boat would be safer."

"So it wasn't an argument then… you sent her away like you tried to with us?" John confirmed.

"Obviously."

"Well, he tried to make me mad at him before leaving, but it didn't work. He tried telling me our marriage was an experiment-"

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson protested, giving him 'the look'.

"That's low, even for you mate." Lestrade agreed, shaking his head.

"But he was only saying that." Molly quickly defended "he didn't mean it, did you?"

"Of course not. It was in the interest of her protection." Sherlock agreed, his arms wrapped protectively around her, validating his claims.

"But it didn't work, so he told me to run instead. I didn't tell him where I was going, I didn't even know myself, but he found me anyway." Molly finished the story, smiling down at him.

"Aww, that's so romantic" Mary cooed.

"Yes, it was. Anyway, enough about us." Molly deflected "I want to hear about you guys. How are you Lestrade? Sherlock said you got shot!"

Lestrade shifted a little in his chair, uncomfortable to be the centre of attention, especially when that attention was on his injury.

"I'll live. Thanks to Sherlock at least. The worst bit is knowing I owe the smarmy git my life; twice now." He joked, raising laughs from the room, and even a sly smirk from the Consulting Detective himself.

"Aw. And you two, how was the wedding, and the honeymoon? I hope you have plenty of pictures!" Molly turned her attention to John and Mary.

"Well obviously the wedding was a bit of a fiasco, what with John getting shot at, and making me think he was dead. _And_ not telling me he was _actually _hurt until we were in _Greece!_" Mary said, with a brief disapproving look at her husband, which didn't last long and soon split into a wide grin "But other than that, it was amazing! We brought the laptop so we could show you…"

The laptop was brought out, and the next hour was spent looking through photos from the wedding and John and Mary posing at various landmarks in Greece, accompanied by various anecdotes from the couple.

"Lovely as the pictures are, you shall have to put them away for now, and get them out again later" Mrs Hudson finally instructed "Dinner is nearly ready. Although how I'm going to fit you all around the table I don't know. You young ladies can't be sitting on your husband's laps all through dinner you know"

Molly and Mary looked at Mrs Hudson then each other and giggled. John smiled and stood.

"I'll go bring your table from downstairs up then, shall I?" He suggested.

"Oh, yes, that would be a good idea!" Mrs Hudson agreed "Don't try to lift it alone though, you'll do your back a mischief."

"I'll help" Lestrade offered, getting ready to get up.

"Er, No." John stopped him "I'm pretty sure that would count as a 'strenuous physical activity', which I imagine your doctor would have told you to avoid. Am I right?"

Lestrade sank back into his chair with an eye-roll, a huff and an aggravated mutter against doctors, which John took as a yes.

"Sherlock?" John asked instead. Sherlock nodded, shifted Molly off his lap with a kiss to the forehead, and followed John down the stairs to get the other table. It was quite comical to those upstairs, shifting the living room furniture around to make space for both tables in the bigger room, to hear them bickering all the way up about the best way to manoeuvre it. Finally though, they were all seated around the two tables in the middle of the flat, digging into banquet of a roast Mrs Hudson had prepared for them.

"Molly, wine?" Mary asked. She had already gone halfway around the table with it, and now the bottle was hovering over Molly's glass.

"I'll pass thanks." Molly declined.

"Are you sure?" Mary prompted. "It's one of your favourites." She and Molly had become quite good friends over the time she'd been dating John, and they'd had several girly nights with wine, chocolates and a movie while the boys had been out on a case.

"Yes but… I… No, thank you." Molly stuttered, blushing.

The table went quiet, significant looks being passed around their friends, making Molly's blush deeper.

"Molly. I may not be as good a detective as your husband, but I get the feeling there is something you're not telling us." Lestrade said with raised eyebrows and a creeping grin.

Molly looked to Sherlock, and he gave a small nod of permission for her to make the announcement.

"I'm pregnant." She told them with a proud smile, though she couldn't look anyone in the eye as she said it.

The announcement was met with smiles, cheers and exclamations of congratulations from all gathered. Sherlock tried to smile as he accepted the congratulation and shoulder slaps, but he knew it would look painfully strained. He couldn't help it. They were all assuming he was the father, but he was still unsure of that fact. Thankfully no-one thought anything of the strained smile, assuming he hadn't quite got over the idea of being a father yet. All except John it seemed. His wise eyes took in Sherlock's expression and understood instantly. He didn't say anything yet though, offering his congratulations to them like the others, and listening as Molly explained how they'd figured it out that morning. It was as Mrs Hudson was taking away the plates from their main course, ready for dessert, that he met Sherlock's eyes, nodded, and stood.

"Well that was lovely Mrs H, but I think I'm going to have to take a bit of a walk to help it go down before I'll have room for dessert. Coming, Sherlock?"

Sherlock wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood too, swooping back down to plant a kiss on Molly's head. "I'll be back in a minute. I'm sure whatever John has to say to me won't take long."

John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, sorry, was that supposed to be _subtle_?" Sherlock responded sarcastically. Everyone else bit their lips, trying not to laugh.

"Just as long as you're back soon, or the crumble will burn" Mrs Hudson said, effortlessly diffusing the situation.

Minutes later, Sherlock and John sat down on a bench, not far from Baker Street. The journey had been silent, but now it was time to talk.

"The baby _is_ yours." John cut right to the chase, watching his friend carefully for a reaction. When Sherlock just raised his eyebrows at him and turned away, he added "I know how your mind works Sherlock. All observations and conclusions. You don't see her for over a month, and she comes back pregnant. Of course the conclusion that it's not yours would cross your mind. And stay there, until you receive evidence to the contrary. So I'm giving you it now. The baby is yours."

"How do you know?" Sherlock replied without inflection, staring straight ahead.

"Because I'm a doctor." John reminded him. "Obviously prenatal care isn't my speciality, but I know the basics. Such as how long it takes for a woman to develop morning sickness. 6 weeks. She wasn't gone that long. By my estimation, it's only just been 6 weeks since Moran escaped."

"6 weeks and 4 days." Sherlock corrected.

"And how long has she been suffering from nausea?" John asked

"At least a week. I can't be sure, it had started before I found her, although some of it could have been sea-sickness." Sherlock confirmed.

"Well there you go then." John nodded "She was pregnant when she left. Definitely yours. _You_…are a father, Sherlock. Heaven help us."

Sherlock laughed a little, finally meeting John's eye. John's words had lifted a huge load from his shoulders, but he tried not to let it show too much. John didn't need to know just how worried he'd been. "Thanks." He said, remembering his manners.

"You are very welcome." John told him, giving him a hearty pat on the back as he got up "Now let's get back before all the crumble is gone. I don't believe for a second that they are waiting for us."

The two men chuckled as they made their way back to the flat. Just as they reached the front steps, a sleek black car pulled up behind them. They simultaneously stopped and turned, as Mycroft got out of the passenger seat, standing to face them.

"I believe congratulations are in order, dear brother." He addressed Sherlock.

"I was wondering how long it would take you. You're getting slow Mycroft." Sherlock taunted.

"Yes, well, it would have been nice if you could have called to deliver the news personally." Mycroft admonished him.

"Why bother when you have your fancy network keeping an ear out for any news." Sherlock returned.

John watched the debate like a tennis match between the two of them, before deciding to step in.

"Well you know now. Why don't you come up and join us, Mycroft? Everyone is here." He offered.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"Mrs Hudson has made a crumble. I'm sure there will be plenty to go around." Sherlock added, banking on his brother's love of confection. John's eyes widened as he looked back at Sherlock. Usually he was eager for Mycroft to leave, never before had John heard him extend an invitation to the man. Must be his approaching fatherhood, John reasoned.

"Well then. Perhaps I can spare a minute or two to _socialize._" Mycroft agreed.

When they got back upstairs most of the furniture had been rearranged again, and the others were settled on the sofas with their bowls. Mrs Hudson immediately jumped up, to get bowls for Sherlock, John and Mycroft, and the three men made themselves comfortable and joined in the friendly chatter.

As the others talked, Sherlock looked around the room at the eclectic assortment of individuals. The British Government, the Pathologist, the Army Doctor, the Detective Inspector, the Teacher and the Landlady. In the past Sherlock had never had friends, only acquaintances. He still didn't have friends: these people were all more than that to him. They were his family. When his child was born, these would be its family, his or her aunt and uncles and grandmother. He couldn't imagine better.

* * *

_AN: Thinking about leaving it here, this seems like quite a nice place to leave it. I know I said that before, but this feels a lot more like an ending. Might do a few bonus chapters later, who knows. _


End file.
